


if you must leave, leave as though fire burns under your feet

by bravestyles



Series: You [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arguing, Cancer, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Kidfic, M/M, Sickfic, descriptions of things related to cancer, inaccurate medical talk, spoiler alert: nobody dies, talk of death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 54,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22856761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bravestyles/pseuds/bravestyles
Summary: Five years later, Harry's cancer comes back.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Series: You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636324
Comments: 52
Kudos: 188





	if you must leave, leave as though fire burns under your feet

**Author's Note:**

> title: you -- keaton henson 
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction. also, as mentioned in the tags, nobody dies. 
> 
> this part is definitely sadder and a bit more hopeless than the first part, so be prepared. also, while reading, please keep in mind that people cope differently, and that sometimes it's difficult to handle your emotions during stressful times. 
> 
> you can probably read this part without reading the first part first. some things might be confusing, but i think those parts are probably insignificant. 
> 
> hope you enjoy :)

In this house, silence rarely exists. Even before there were kids running around, it was barely ever quiet here. The only time this house was hushed was when Harry was ridden with cancer, but that was a little over five years ago, and Louis doesn't talk about it. Well, he does, it's kind of unavoidable, but not today, not when he has a house full of people to entertain. 

Christmas used to be something he loved celebrating, especially because his birthday is the day before it, but shit. Kids change everything.  _ Five  _ kids change everything. It's not that he doesn't enjoy Christmas, it's just that now, he's running around the house panicking that he hasn't hidden the wrapping paper well enough and they're going to find out Santa isn't real, or that Harry and him didn't pick out good enough presents and they're going to be disappointed, or Harry has forgotten he's in charge of cooking and there's not going to be enough food for all of their guests -- and yes, guests, because when you have kids, people actually make time to come over and see them because they don't have phones, and it's just. A lot. A lot of good things in one day, but a lot. 

Thankfully, Harry has taken the three oldest kids with him outside to help him with. . . Louis can't remember, but he knows where his kids are, that's what counts. He's a good father, he swears. Harry has Annie who's almost five, Marion who's three, and Isabelle who just turned two, while Louis has eighteen month old Jack and two month old Noah. Surprisingly enough, he's got the easy ones. All Noah does is blink at him and sleep, and Jack just wants Louis, Louis, Louis all of the time, so all Louis needs to do is give him one of his slippers to play with and sit him on the ground. (Harry will kill him for dirtying his clothes, but that's a problem for later.) 

Louis' conversing with Nick and Tyler inside at the table about their new little girl, Amelia, and he thinks it's a real pity he hated Nick for so long, because he's actually kind of cool. Kind of. 

"The only real problem we ever had with sleeping was with Jack," Louis tells them. They must have picked out some keepers, because everyone complains about sleeping, but really, it's not that hard to console a baby back to sleep. Except with Jack, who hated sleeping and still does most of the time, and who is now looking up at him with wide eyes because he knows his name now. Louis smiles softly down at him, but then quickly takes his shoe back when it heads straight for Jack's mouth. He makes a face, one that burns red almost instantly, and Louis sighs. "He also has a bit of a problem being told ‘no’." To please Jack, because he really doesn't want to have to deal with a screaming child on Christmas, he shifts Noah in his arms so he can safely lower himself to the floor and Jack can crawl all over him like a playground. It's a little weird to be having a conversation with two grown men from the floor while they sit at the table, but they simply laugh and carry on like Jack isn't pulling at his hair.

When Nick and Tyler have to go retrieve a hollering Amelia from Aimee, Louis moves on to talk with Liam and his wife Laura. They don't have any kids, but last time Louis checked in with Liam, they were trying for them. It's weird, not being so in tuned with the band anymore, but everyone agreed it was safest for Harry that One Direction came to some sort of end. They still write music, and they still release albums infrequently. They still go to award shows and keep winning, too, and most importantly, they still perform every now and again. At award shows, mostly, but sometimes they have a handful of shows every year just to keep giving to the fans. They do all the same things bands do except tour, and honestly, Louis likes it better this way. He doesn’t want to deal with the stress that putting Harry on a world tour would bring.

Liam points out that a lot more people are here than usual, and it's true. There's people flooding their living room, dining room, and their kitchen, and most of the teenagers and kids that can be by themselves are downstairs. Louis knows it's because Harry had just hit his five years of being cancer-free a little earlier in the month. People made sure to be here for him. 

Throughout some point in their conversation, Zayn and Perrie join them. She's been pregnant for three months now, and Louis can't help but want to hide her from Harry, whenever he decides to come back inside, because Harry's not done with kids, not yet. Five isn't enough for him, and it's endearing and maybe Louis would be up for a few more, but not now. Certainly not now. They've adopted five kids in less than five years, and Louis has told Harry already that they have to wait at least another year and a half for another. Harry got all pouty and sad, but seriously, Louis can't handle another kid right now, especially since they're all so young and in need of attention. And Harry does the bulk of the work with them, so he’s not complaining, but still. Five is more than enough for right now. 

"Where's Haz?" Niall asks, coming into their little circle. He pets Noah's head a bit before glancing at Louis expectantly. "I've got a really cool new golf club, and he's the only one who'll appreciate it." 

Louis scoffs. "You're right about that." He sighs when Jack starts to gnaw at his finger but doesn't do anything to stop it. Jack's a terror, and he’s grown numb to it. "He's doing something outside with the girls."

"Building snowmen," Perrie says, smiling gently. "The girls were insisting, and Marion eventually guilted him into it." 

"She's going to be a fun one when she's older," Louis remarks quietly, smiling fondly. She's only three, but he can tell already. She's going to go after big things; she's named after a very special doctor, after all. It's in her DNA. 

"They've been at it for an hour," Ben says, as he joins in on the conversation, too. He started off talking to one person and it has multiplied into six, and Louis' pretty sure it's because he's got the baby. Everyone loves babies. "They're going to have the whole army of snowmen before they're finished."

Louis only smiles because it's very much the truth, and he only hopes Harry had put on a few layers of clothing for himself before he went out. He knows the kids are taken care of, but Harry always forgets about himself. That's why Louis' here. 

After about a half hour more of talking about life and sisters and babies and loves, a small, helpless cry that Louis instantly recognizes comes from. . . somewhere, Louis can't quite figure it out from the middle of a busy kitchen, but he whips his head around in the general direction of it, and sure enough, a little blonde head pokes it's way through the kitchen doorway and they lock eyes from across the room. 

"Daddy, Daddy!" he hears, and he immediately passes Noah off to Niall and Jack off to Liam, and by the time he can do that, Annie's racing towards him and into his legs. She's crying, her bright green eyes wet with big, fat tears, and Louis' heart hurts so bad he can't take it. He quickly bends down to her level, wiping at her cold cheeks with his fingers. 

"Hey, hey, what's wrong, bug? Are you hurt? Are your sisters okay?'

She's sniffles, and Louis wants to fix it, she just needs to tell him what happened. "Papa's hurt on his nose," she cries. "It just started bleeding. He told me to get you, Daddy. Come on, come help him."

Louis can feel his entire body drain. It's like all the air is knocked out of his lungs again, and his head whips around to find Anne who looks just as devastated as he does. He chokes down the tears that are making his throat dry and he nods frantically, reaches to smooth down her hair. "I'm gonna help him, okay?" His voice cracks. He swallows thickly. "You just have to stay here with Uncle Zayn, okay? Can you do that for me?"

She nods wildly, and Louis doesn't have the heart to console her any further. He stands shakily to his feet, and everybody's watching him with wide eyes because they know, too. They were there when Harry went through it the first time. And this just isn't fair. 

He tries to tell himself that it could be nothing, but he knows better than that. That way of thinking almost screwed Harry over last time, and he weaves through people and Ben's following closely behind him and Louis can't do this again. He's finally let himself believe that he has Harry for good, this just isn't fair.

Ignoring Ben's pleas for him to put on a coat, he shoves the door back door open and he sees all the different snowmen before he sees anything else, and it shatters Louis' heart that much more. A sob pushes its way through his throat when he spots Harry bundled up in a coat sitting in the snow with Marion and Isabelle clutched tightly to his chest, and even though Louis' a few feet away, he can see the blood dribbling out of his nose. It makes Louis rush forward that much faster, and Harry is staring at him with these unrecognizable defeated eyes when he gets close enough. Marion turns to him slowly, and she's crying, and she knows something is wrong, too. 

"Ben, take the kids inside," Harry instructs, voice hoarse. Ben comes forward and grabs the hands of Marion and a very confused looking Isabelle. There's a silence as Louis stares down at Harry and Harry stares up at him until the back door shuts, and as if it was a cue, Harry breaks down into tears. "I can't do this again," he sobs, and Louis falls to his knees to pull Harry to his chest. They both shake with the tears, and blood ends up getting on both of them. 

It's only when Louis can't feel his ears anymore that he pushes Harry back slightly. The blood has stopped but the tears haven't, and Louis uses the edge of his sleeve to wipe at it. Good thing his sweater is red; Christmas colors, and all. Harry lets himself be cleaned up, and when Louis runs out of things to do, he lets Harry lay back into his chest again. They both watch the snow fall.

"I ruined Christmas," Harry says quietly, wiping at his nose self-consciously. 

"No, love. You didn't." 

Harry takes a shaky breath in. "I can't do it again, Louis. I can't. I won't."

Louis doesn't know what that means exactly, so he kisses the top of Harry's head and pulls them both to their feet. He wipes at his own cheeks and cringes at how their pants are soaked with snow. "Christmas isn't over yet. We still haven't eaten dinner. Come on; let's go get changed. I'll have Liam start dinner."

Dinner is strangely not awkward or tense at all. Apart from Harry and Louis' silence, and the way Annie keeps clinging onto Harry, everybody does a good job of pretending nothing happened. Louis had given everyone a stern look when they walked upstairs to change, and that's all they needed to know that they were supposed to carry on as usual. It's maybe unfair for the people closest to Harry -- especially Anne, poor Anne, but Louis knows Harry can't be his mother's shoulder to cry on right now. Louis eats his food with his left hand because Harry intertwined their pinkies underneath the table and Louis won't break that right now. 

Everybody jumps when Noah starts to cry from his crib in his room, and Harry looks so grateful to finally have a reason to get up from the table. He leaves without a word, and as soon as he’s gone, everyone turns their head to look at Louis. 

"I'll take him to the doctors first thing in the morning," Louis promises lowly, mostly to Anne, who looks heartbroken. 

"Papa has to go to the doctors?" Annie asks, frowning at Harry's empty seat. "'Cause his nose?"

"Yes, love," Louis murmurs quietly. "Because of his nose."

"But he's going to be okay, right?" she presses, and seeing Harry bleeding must've really, really spooked her. "Daddy?"

"Papa loves you very much," is all he says. He stands and presses a kiss to her cheek before walking to the sink and putting his plate in it. There's already so many dishes in the sink; Harry told him it was lazy to buy a dishwasher when they could do it together, so it's going to be up to Louis tonight to wash and dry the dishes. Normally, he'd be the one to dry while Harry washes, but Harry still hasn't come downstairs even though Noah's cries died down a while ago. 

Louis' about halfway done with the dishes (although as people finish their dinners and go to the living room to watch a movie that Nick chose, they keep stacking up again) when Harry walks back down the stairs. His cheeks are red and puffy, and Louis pretends not to notice how badly his hands are shaking when he stands next to Louis. He hovers for a moment, and Louis turns to look at him.

Harry licks his lips. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, babe," he promises, turning his neck to kiss Harry's forehead. So, Louis washes and Harry dries, and neither of them talk because they know what's coming. They're in the eye of the storm right now, and no matter what direction they head, they're heading for danger. 

After they finish up, Louis notices how tired Harry looks. Again, it's not a fair fucking warning. They have five kids, of course Harry's going to be tired. "Let's go to bed, love," Louis tries, but Harry pushes his hand away when he tries to touch his shoulder.

"It's Christmas," he mumbles. "It's Noah's first Christmas. Amelia's, too. We're not going to bed at eight o'clock."

"Hazza -- "

"I'm not doing this again," Harry says, seriously. "We have kids now. This is different. I'm not doing it again."

Louis rubs a hand down his face, tired. "I don't know what you mean by that, darling."

For a moment, Harry looks into the living room. Marion is giggling as Liam tickles her, and it makes Louis smile softly but all Harry does is frown. "Chemo," Harry says finally. "I'm not doing chemo again."

Before Louis can tell him how absurd that is, remind him that it worked last time, Harry's already walking into the living room and snuggling up against his sister. Annie, Marion, and Isabelle all roar and jump on him while Jack watches with wide eyes from across the room in Ben's arms. Noah's upstairs sleeping, and Louis really should go get him so they can spend what very could be their last Christmas together as a family if Harry doesn't do chemotherapy, but first he lowers himself to the kitchen floor and cries for the entire first half of  _ Scrooge.  _ Eventually, he pulls himself off the floor, grabs a sleeping Noah from his crib, and curls up in Harry's lap as everyone watches with sad eyes. 

Harry falls asleep before the movie ends, and Louis' sure he won't be able to sleep at all tonight.

Later that night when everyone's piled out of their home and the kids are put to bed, Louis goes back into the living room to check on Harry. He's still quietly sleeping, his fingers loosely holding onto the blanket that Anne covered him with before she left. His nose is scrunched softly, telling Louis he's not sleeping that deeply. Louis can whisper his name and Harry would wake from it, and it sounds so, so tempting, but he's scared if he wakes Harry, he's going to have to console him. Louis can barely wrap his head around it right now, and it's going to be impossible to say anything helpful. 

Instead of torturing himself by thinking about it, he finds the remote and changes the channel to some late night show and carefully maneuvers his way underneath the blankets with Harry. The couch is big enough for the both of them, but he still feels trapped and all he can do is snuggle further into Harry's chest. 

The host on the television tells a shitty joke. The audience laughs. It makes Louis' stomach churn. 

There's got to be something more productive than laying here watching stupid shows. Maybe there's something he can do to help Harry, or maybe he can check on the kids. Both require him getting up and leaving Harry, though, so both options are out. 

Another commercial break passes, and finally Louis can't handle the silence anymore. He shimmies up the couch so his head is next to Harry's, and he takes a few moments to breathe him in. After all these years, Harry's still the most breathtaking thing he's ever laid his eyes on. 

Harry's hair tucks itself just below his ears. It's not long like before, but it's not too short either. His eyelashes create shadows on his cheeks, and Louis remembers how gaunt Harry had gotten during his chemo treatment. Not terribly skinny, healthy, but lacking any squish or extra fat anywhere. His lips are pink and chapped, the bottom one having obviously been chewed on sometime earlier in the night. He's probably stressed. Louis is certainly stressed. 

"H," he whispers, pressing their foreheads together lightly. Harry, as predicted, wakes. He mumbles something incoherent and pulls the covers over his shoulders. Louis smiles, a sharp contrast from the tears collecting in his cheeks. "Hazza, love. I've got to take you to bed."

Harry hums quietly, still not opening his eyes. "Then take me. You didn't have to wake me. You've got those big, strong Dad muscles."

"Shut up," he laughs, sitting up. In protest, Harry whines quietly and reaches for him like a child. Louis scoffs. "C'mon, big boy. Up you go.”

Harry gets up easily, and they don’t talk about it all.

-

The next morning, Harry doesn't want to get out of bed. At first, when Louis wakes him by leaving small kisses everywhere on his face, Harry tells him five more minutes. Louis obliges and goes downstairs to make him breakfast, but he finds Anne already doing it. She has Jack on her hip, and when Jack sees him, his eyes light up and he reaches out for Louis. 

"Da!" he squeals, squirming in Anne's arms. She turns around in surprise, and Louis smiles sheepishly at her. She was supposed to go out for breakfast with Gemma this morning, but Louis had to ask her to babysit this morning. Neither Harry or Louis like to ask people to babysit for them -- there's five fucking kids --, but they can't take that many children to a sad, quiet cancer facility. Louis will be okay with them never stepping foot in one.

Anne sets Jack on the ground. He can't walk yet, refuses to even try, but he can crawl like a son of a bitch. He makes little happy noises as he makes his way towards Louis, and when he finally gets to him, he grabs a hold of Louis' pants to pull himself to his feet. It's a behavior learned from Marion when she's whining for something, and it's the closest he's ever come to walking, and it makes Louis' heart melt. Each time, he's won over by those big blue eyes. 

"He's obsessed with you," Anne laughs, tapping a spoon against a pan before turning around to face him. Louis already has Jack in his arms, and this is the only time Louis can convince him to sleep so he tries not to make any sudden moves or speak too loudly. 

"Don’t know why," Louis says around a yawn. He sits down at the breakfast bar, watching Anne cook some eggs and toast. Normally, Louis would offer to help, but he literally could not fall asleep last night, not even for a minute. 

"It's not like last time," Anne points out. "The bruising, the fevers, the bursting spleen -- they aren't here this time around."

Louis knows. He knows this. "He doesn't have a spare spleen to pop." He tries to smile, he does. Instead he gets distracted by Jack sucking on his finger. 

Maybe it's the wrong thing to say, because Anne turns back around without a word. He checks Jack's diaper and when he finds it’s clean, he quietly makes his way back up the stairs. 

Harry's still not up from bed, though he's awake. His eyes are trained on the window, even though it's shut, and he doesn't move when Louis comes in. When Jack makes another happy baby noise, he lifts his head. Thank God, Harry's not too far gone from him. 

"We have to go, babes." Despite his words, he climbs back into bed with Harry. The blankets are still warm and cozy, and Harry takes Jack from Louis and lays him down next to him without a word. "H. . . don't I at least get a good morning?"

"I'm not doing it again, Louis. I can't."

There it is again, and Louis' not going to let Harry do this. He wasn't going to bring up what Harry said last night, so Harry did it himself, and this isn't happening. "We have kids, Harry. If you don't do this you're going to die. You can't leave them."

"I won't be able to change their diapers," Harry says, "because of germs. If one of them gets sick, I can't take care of them. If I go on chemo, I'll sleep half the day. It took six months last time, Louis. I'm not doing it again  _ for _ them."

Louis doesn't let Harry's tears distract him from what's important here. "That's -- your immune system is down either way; that means no diapers and no sick kids both ways. And instead of sleeping half the day, you'll be sleeping for forever because you'll be fucking dead. Noah is two months old. Jack isn't even two. They won't remember you.  _ Annie _ might not even remember you." He's trying to use it to boost Harry's confidence in chemo, but Louis realizes after he says it that even with chemo, Harry still might not make it. And now he's just gone and put those thoughts into Harry's head. He shouldn’t have been selfish enough to say that either way, though. That was completely wrong of him. "Shit, Haz -- "

"Don't talk to me," he snaps, and then he's finally getting up. Louis has a hand splayed on Jack's bare tummy as he watches Harry get dressed. He pulls on a hoodie that Louis knows for a fact is dirty and a pair of sweats, and then he throws his hands up, exasperated as he turns to look at Louis again. "Fine. Let's go. Let’s go to a fucking doctor so they can tell me I have cancer and that it's worse than before. You wanna go so bad, fine. Let’s fucking go, and then when they tell me that it's chemo or die in a few months on my own terms, I'm going to chose the latter and you're just going to have to deal with it."

He’s angry, and if Louis wasn’t so angry himself, he’d realize it was coming from a place of defensiveness and fear. He should take a breath and come them both down, but he’s not level-headed enough to do that right now.

"I can't raise five kids without you, Harry." They're both on the verge of crying, but neither of them are willing to do it first. This is so, so different from last time. Harry has no hope. Harry has no smiles to give to Louis. 

"You'll figure it out," Harry says, and it's so cold and so distant that it morphs him into a stranger. He starts to walk away, but Louis follows him with Jack in hand, adamant. 

"Is that what you want me to tell our kids, Harry? Our children. 'Oh, Papa's gone, but don't fucking worry, you'll figure it out'. When Jack or Noah need help tying their ties for school dances because I can't fucking do them, you want me to tell them to just figure it out? When one of the kids are feeling sad that they're fucking father willingly left them, you want me to shrug and tell them they'll figure it out?"

They're in the kitchen now, and Anne has prepared their plates. She looks lost and confused and Harry scoffs and plops down at the bar. "That's not what I said."

"It's what you meant."

Harry rolls his eyes, threading his fingers through his hair. That's going to be gone soon. "I know it's my fault, Louis. Don't think I'm an idiot."

"What the hell are you talking about now?" Jack is starting to get fussy, so he hands him off to Anne, who's watching them carefully with worried eyes. 

"I'm the one who wanted kids," Harry says accusingly. "I'm the one who pushed and pushed and pushed and now we have fucking five. I should've waited until I was sure I was better."

"What are you -- you were better, Harry. And I wanted kids, too. It's not like you forced me into doing anything."

Harry scoffs. "Please. You would've been fine with stopping after Annie."

It's the nastiest, falsest thing Harry has ever said to him, and it's not something Louis will just let go of later when they're done arguing. It's something that's going to set heavy on Louis' heart for maybe the rest of his life. "I love all of these kids. They are my everything. Don't you dare insinuate I would take back anything just because you’re mad, because I wouldn't."

Harry shrugs easily, and takes a bite of his toast before standing up again. "I'd take back doing chemo the first time," he snaps, and Louis' hands shake with how mad he is right now. He watches Harry kiss Anne's cheek and then Jack's head before grabbing the car keys and walking to the door. Dumbfounded, Louis follows. He's quiet until they reach Louis' car, and Harry doesn't try to drive. Smart. 

Louis jams the keys in the ignition and takes a deep, deep breath before turning to look at Harry. He doesn't look the slightest bit sorry. "You're scared and lashing out, I understand that. But if you ever, ever talk like that to me in front of one of our kids again, so help me God. . ."

Harry closes his eyes, rests his head against the window. "Jack's one. He won't remember it in five minutes."

"Harry," Louis spits. "I mean it. We're going to have serious problems if you do that again."

The rest of the car ride is silent, and Louis is still boiling with rage when they pull into the hospital's parking lot. He hasn't looked at Harry the entire ride here, and when he finally does, he isn't surprised to see him crying. His anger doesn't waver, and he turns the car off, waits for Harry to speak first. 

"I don't regret doing chemo the first time," Harry says quietly. "I would've missed out on them, and they're the best thing that has ever happened to me."

His fingers dig into the steering wheel. "And now?"

"I can't do it again."

"Harry." Louis' on the brink of tears again, and Harry has tears flooding his cheeks. If Harry is so upset by this, why won't he just do it? He has to do it. Louis needs him to do it. "What can I do to convince you to go through with it?"

Harry reaches over the console to grab Louis' hand, and that's when Louis knows he's serious about this. Harry's not saying it out of a place of anger or fear, and he's not going to wake up tomorrow morning with his mind changed. It makes Louis finally give in to the sadness in his chest and cry, and Harry's arms come and hug his waist the best he can like this. Louis lets him, because even though he's pretty sure he hates Harry right now for making this decision, he has to stand by his side the rest of the way. 

"How can you do this to them?" Louis cries, fisting Harry's sweatshirt tightly. "How can you do this to  _ me _ , Harry? Why don't you want to stay with me? Why -- " A sob cuts him off, and he gives up on trying to talk. 

"I want nothing more than to be with you," Harry's hand is hot against his neck, "to be with them. To watch them grow up and become beautiful people, but I can't. I can't waste away like that again, not in front of them."

Louis' about to yell again, it feels like he has to, but his phone buzzes in his pocket. He pulls away from Harry to grab it, and it's a text from Marion, Harry's old Hematologist. They've become close friends after she stopped treating Harry -- they wouldn't have named their daughter after her if they weren't -- and he had texted her last night and asked if they could come in without an appointment. 

"Marion says she's running out of time to fit us in," he says, wiping at cheeks. He's staring straight forward, not looking at Harry. He can't. "Go inside and I'll come in a few minutes."

"Come with me, Lou. I don't want to do this by myself."

And Louis should really listen to him, and he shouldn't make Harry do this alone, but Harry's willing to leave him alone for more than a few minutes, so the sympathy vanishes. "I don't even want to look at you right now," Louis says coldly. "Just go."

Harry does, and Louis' back to staring at him as he walks inside, because he's being forced back into desperately trying to cling onto every piece of him before he goes. 

According to Harry's bone marrow test, he has leukemia. Nobody is surprised. They won't know for sure if it's more aggressive this time around until they get his blood tests back, but Dr. Cabot (because that's who she is now, not Marion) tells them it's almost a guarantee. 

Now, in her office, there's a heavy silence that's taken over. She stopped talking after Harry tried to grab Louis' hand for the third time, and like every other time, Louis pulled away. Both of them are just staring at her now, or anywhere else that isn't’ each other, and she only has fifteen minutes left to talk, but Louis doesn't want to bring up the fact Harry doesn't want to do chemo.

She brings it up herself, indirectly. The awkward tension must get the better of her, because she clears her throat and smiles. "You can start chemotherapy as soon as we get your tests back and we set up a treatment plan."

Harry, who's been playing with his rings since Louis' rejected him, doesn't look up from his lap. "I'm not doing chemo," he says, and his voice sounds so hollow it makes Louis’ chest ache. 

"Oh." Surprise is clear in her voice. "That's. . . okay. Do you want to try a blood transfusion instead? There's always other options."

He doesn't respond, and Louis clenches his jaw tightly. If Harry is so fucking ashamed of himself for doing this, why is he doing it? Louis pulls on his hair a bit before sighing loudly. It makes Harry jump. "He doesn't want to do any treatment. He wants to die."

"I don't want to die, Louis."

"He wants to die," Louis repeats, not looking at him. Harry just sighs sadly in response. 

"Well," she starts, and her eyes have gone wet and yeah, Louis thinks. It fucking sucks. "As your doctor, I have to inform you that you will die if you refuse treatment."

Harry nods, Louis can see him out of the corner of his eye, and he's back to burning anger. "How long do I have?" Harry's voice is shaking and small, and Louis covers his eyes with his hand. He's not going to cry, he's not, but he doesn't want to even see Harry out of the corner of his eye right now.

"I can’t give you a definite amount of time. It’s up to your body, really. But I. . . I only feel comfortable giving you about a month or two to change your mind about chemotherapy. After that it might be too late." There's papers flipping. This is how it had been in Canada last time, Louis with his eyes closed and papers flipping. "But you're going to be in extreme pain, Harry. Your appetite will decrease. You'll experience fevers and nausea, bleeding. Your bones will become incredibly sore and painful. Any symptoms you're feeling now will only get much, much worse from here on out."

"I know that," Harry murmurs sadly. 

"Your liver could swell and rupture exactly like your spleen did." She sounds desperate now, like she's trying to help Louis win this. He's grateful, but it's not going to work. And Louis’ questioning if having someone they’re so close with as his doctor is what’s best for Harry. "You'll be extremely tired all of the time, and the pain will get so excruciating you won't be able to sleep."

"I understand that."

"Harry," she says, exasperated. "You have children. Five of them. They'll have to watch you suffer."

Harry doesn't respond to that.

"Do you know how many people refuse treatment and then try to go back on it when it's too late?" There's a loud noise that makes Louis' eyes snap open, and when he moves his hand, she sees her hand flat against the table. "Too many, Harry. I don't want you to regret it when it's too late and there's nothing I can do."

Again, Harry doesn't respond. Louis finally looks at him, and he's staring out at the window behind Dr. Cabot. His hands are shaking from where they're jumbled on his lap.

"You won't be able to take care of them." Her voice is shaking, and her face red. "Your hands will be shaking too badly from the pain to feed Noah or change Jack’s diapers. One second you're playing with Isabelle and the next you're bleeding all over her dollhouse." Her fingers are trembling. Louis knows the feeling. "Marion will take it to heart when you're too weak to play with her. She'll think you're mad at her, that she's done something wrong. You know how emotional she is."

"Stop, okay?" Harry tries to snap, but his voice cracks. 

She doesn't. "Annie loves you. She loves you more than I've ever seen a little girl love somebody. And she's smart, Harry. She's brilliant. She'll know you are in pain, and she'll try to fix it and she won't be able to. Don't do that to her, don't -- " She has to stop for a second, and her hands come up to her face, her fingers curling in anger. She's glaring at Harry, and this is the only time Louis' seen her like this. "Louis won't be able to take care of five kids on his own and mourn the loss of you. Don't do that to them."

Harry stands to his feet, the chair sliding back from the force of it. His fists are clenched by his side and he's breathing a bit heavy. "Don't talk about my children. You are my doctor, and that is it, so don't fucking talk about my kids like you know anything about them."

Nobody points out that she's babysat for them countless times, or the fact she was supposed to be there at Christmas but couldn't make it, or that their fucking daughter is named after her. Louis and Marion just watch Harry wrestle with whatever he's thinking right now. 

"Are we done?" he says after a few seconds. His voice is back to hollow. 

She nods, sitting back in her chair. "I guess we are. I'll call you when the results come back."

"Fine." He shifts on his feet a few times before shrugging and sliding his hands in in the front pocket of his hoodie. "I'll see you at my funeral then, I guess." And then he turns around and walks out like his words were harmless and Louis' whole world didn't just stop for a good few seconds after they were said.

Harry’s hurting, he tries to remind himself. He’s hurting and he’s scared and he feels like his body is betraying him. But that’s not enough for Louis’ anger to fade. 

"Two weeks, maybe three," she tells him as soon as Harry's gone. "That's all you have at the very most to get him to change his mind. And even by then, things can already be so much worse."

Louis bites harshly on his lip. That's not going to be enough time. How is he going to come up with the words to convince Harry to want to fight within two weeks? "I'll try."

-

The trying starts as soon as they get home. The kids are awake and running around, and when they hear the door open, they come racing towards it. Annie tackles Harry's leg while Isabelle and Marion attach themselves to one of Louis' each. He laughs, can't help it, and he's a pro at walking with children stuck to him by now so he maneuvers his way out of the doorway and towards the kitchen. Harry has lifted Annie to his arms, and Louis has reminded him countless times that if he keeps doing that, she's going to be dependent on it, but Harry always tells him that she's his princess and he'll never put her down, no matter how old she gets. 

Louis wonders how long he's going to have the strength to lift them. 

"Did you get your nose fixed, Papa?" Annie asks, reaching up to touch it with her small fingers. "Did they stick their fingers up there?"

"No," Harry says softly. His smile is gentle. "Fingers don't go up noses, remember?"

"I remember. Jack doesn't follow that rule."

Out of obligation, Louis defends him because Jack is his little monster and he loves him with all of his heart. "He's one, Annie. Give him a break."

"One and a half," Annie corrects, smiling brightly. 

Louis laughs before telling Marion and Isabelle that he's old and that if they don't let go of his legs, he's going to throw out his back and then he'll walk crooked forever. They giggle and let him go, and now Marion wants to show them her dollhouse again. Harry lets out a wounded noise, and Louis knows he's thinking about Dr. Cabot's scenario just as hard as Louis is.

"Can we get a dog?" Annie asks once Marion pulls out her little plastic dog from its plastic dog house. 

"No," Louis says quietly, because dogs carry dirt and dirt is bad for Harry right now. Besides, Louis can't be expected to take care of five kids and a dog when Harry's too sick to get up from bed. 

"Daddy," Annie whines. 

Louis sighs. "You can get a fish, do you want a fish?" And then for the next hour Annie's making up facts about fish and Marion is slightly upset that her thunder has been stolen, so Harry takes Annie to go upstairs to find Noah. 

"Papa no like my dolls" Marion says after a moment, dragging her eyes from her toys. "Didn't wanna play with me."

Louis is terrified for her. She's already so emotionally complex and she's only fucking three years old. Marion's a happy kid, she is, but she takes things to heart and when she's sad for a reason Louis can't figure out, she gets all quiet and cuddly. They've already looked into child therapists, but Anne told them not to worry about it too much because Harry was the same way as a kid. He still worries, they both do. 

"Papa loves your dolls," he tells her, reaching forward to pinch her cheeks lightly. "You two picked this one out, didn't you?" he asks, motioning to the one with the big, floppy hat. 

She nods, her face beaming as she goes on and on about how Harry had said this and that about the doll, and he how they're going to go get another one next week, and Louis nods along the entire time and he doesn't cry like he wants to because Louis knows that by next week, Harry might not be up for doll shopping. 

He tries to remind himself that it’s not like Harry’s going to drop dead soon. He has a few good months left in him at least. They’ll be filled with fevers and aches, but he’ll still bounce back from them. Eventually, he’ll stop bouncing back, and that’s how Louis will know that his time is coming. Right now, he has to try to stop thinking like Harry’s already a dead man walking. 

Fifteen minutes into watching with a swollen heart as Isabelle and Marion play dolls -- Marion doesn't have a problem with sharing yet -- when Annie comes racing down the stairs with tears in her eyes. Again. 

"Papa's nose isn't fixed," she says, and she looks betrayed. "He told me it was all better."

Anne, who had been watching one of her soap opera's on the television, sighs lightly. "I can take care of it, Louis."

"No," Louis snaps, and then reminds himself that his daughter is staring at him accusingly and Jack is sleeping in his arms. "He can take care of it himself." Annie tilts her head in confusion, and he's sure she's remembering all those speeches about taking care of the family that Harry has given them. "The doctor told him how to fix it, darling. He can do it himself, don't worry. It's just a little ouchie."

"A little one?" She doesn't look convinced.

He nods once. "He used to get them all the time. He knows how to clean it up." He ignores how his brain goes a bit haywire with the knowledge that Harry's bleeding and he's refusing to do anything about it, but he tells himself it's going to be fine. It's going to be fine, and if Louis does everything for him like he did last time, Harry won't realize that Louis despises his decision. This is him trying, and he's going to give it all he's got. 

-

A month later, Harry still hasn't given in and he's already too tired to move around much. He fell asleep yesterday at five in the afternoon during  _ Dora the Explorer _ , and he's still sound asleep on the couch at nine the next morning. It's hard to let the kids have their fun when he has to tell them to be quiet every few minutes, because even though Harry is making a stupid decision, Louis' going to try everything he can to make him less miserable. 

Annie has been quiet this last month, this last week especially. Dr. Cabot was right; she's smart, and she knows something's wrong. She can sense the tension between Harry and Louis, and yesterday she asked Louis if they still love each other. Louis had to go upstairs and cry after that conversation. She keeps offering to make Harry food but she can't make very much and Harry's never hungry, so she draws him pictures instead. 

It becomes alarmingly obvious how much Harry did around the house when Louis has to do it all by himself, and they have pancakes for the third morning straight and Isabelle isn't happy because she hates sticky things, but she doesn't like pancakes without syrup. 

Louis' cleaning Noah's nursery when Annie pulls on his sleeve, and for a foreign minute, he wants her to go away. He's tired and sad and he can't fake happiness right now, he just can't. Not when it's nine in the morning and Harry's been sleeping for sixteen hours straight. Louis can't do it. He hates himself for wishing his daughter to leave, and he hates Harry a little bit for making him this way. 

"What's up, bug?" He presses a kiss to the top of her head before moving on to straighten up the bookshelf in Noah's room. Harry hasn't been up here at all this past month to read him a bedtime story. She follows him, and she grabs a hold of Louis' pinky because she's seen it enough times from him and Harry. 

"Papa's sad," she says after a long moment. Louis' hand freezes, and he immediately looks down at her. She looks fierce. "My pictures don't make him happy."

"Your pictures make him very happy," Louis promises, because they do, they do, they do. "He shows me them every time you make a new one. He thinks they're very pretty."

Her shoulders deflate. "Then why is he still sad?"

"He doesn't feel well, baby. He's not sad." Louis knows they have to sit the three of them who actually understand English down and tell them what's really happening, but until he can talk it out with Harry, they're still saying his nose hurts. It seems like the only option.

"Like when I had my bellyache last night?"

Louis nods, his chest tightening. "Yeah. Kind of like that."

"But my belly doesn't hurt no more." She's pouting, and Louis doesn't have the heart to correct her grammar. 

"You're belly hurt because you had too much ice cream, love." He licks his lips, tries to find the words. "There's icky stuff in him right now that's making his belly hurt. A night of sleep can't fix it."

"What can?"

And goddammit, Louis can't be blamed for breaking down there. She's looking at him with wide eyes and a big pout that she learned from Harry, and he can't tell her that nothing can fix it because Harry doesn't want it fixed. A big sob rips its way through his throat, and he covers his face with the hand Annie isn't holding because he's supposed to be strong, not for Harry but for these kids. He needs to be strong for them, and he's failing. Annie wraps herself around Louis' leg, and God. He can't do this anymore. He can't take anymore of this, he --

Noah starts to cry from his crib, and Louis curses under his breath. Annie lets go of him so he can go aid to Noah. The baby is the only thing that can really take his mind of things, so he talks himself away from the idea of giving up and crying here forever and shushes Noah quietly. Louis' gotten into the habit of letting Noah sleep whenever he wants, same with Jack, and he knows he's just setting himself up for future problems but oh fucking well. 

Once he calms Noah down enough to put him back to sleep, he takes Annie downstairs and colors with the girls for a little bit while stopping every few seconds to take a crayon from Jack's mouth. They color until lunch time, and then Louis hears a quiet groan from the living room and all three of the girls look at Louis, almost afraid. 

"It's just Papa," he tells them, trying to smile for them. "It's okay. Just stay in the kitchen coloring for a little bit while I go talk to him, okay?"

Annie whines quietly. "Wanna show him my picture."

He swallows thickly. "How about you three show him your pictures while we eat lunch?" Marion and Isabelle nod happily, and Annie frowns but shrugs. "Thank you, loves. Annie, please watch Jack. Don't let him eat crayons like you did last time." She giggles quietly, and his heart loosens up a bit. 

It all but stops when he sees Harry, though. He's sitting up now, but he has a giant blanket draped over his shoulders and he's shivering. His eyes are glossed over, and his nose is bleeding again and getting everywhere but he hasn't moved to clean it up. There's a layer of sweat clinging to his skin, and his hands are shaking even though they're holding the blanket. 

"Harry," he breathes out, eyes burning with tears already. Harry slowly turns his head to look at him, and he blinks once, twice. Louis rushes over to clean his nose with the cloth that Louis put next to him on the table because he knew this was going to happen. Fuck. Harry doesn't react, just stares up at Louis with cloudy eyes and Louis' heart is racing in his chest so fast it scares him a little. When the last bit of blood is gone, he straddles Harry's lap and pulls him in close for a hug. Harry's forehead rests on Louis' shoulder and that's the only move he makes, and Louis clings onto him, fear heavy in his belly. The warmth from Harry's forehead seeps through Louis' shirt, and when he pushes him back to feel, yeah, Harry has a fever. 

Harry blinks tiredly. "The kids. . . wanna." He's breathing heavily, like he can't quite catch a breath but he keeps trying anyway. "Wanna see them."

"Not when you're like this," Louis chokes out. "You look terrible, Harry." Harry just slumps against his chest, his head resting on his shoulder. 

"'m gonna die," Harry murmurs, voice showing his exhaustion. 

"Yeah," Louis whispers back. "You are."

"Love them." His fingernails dig into Louis' arm, and Louis' positive he doesn't realize he's doing it. "And. . . you. Love you."

"Please do chemo," he tries, and Harry shakes his head almost instantly. "H, I can't do this without you, you don't understand." His fingers tighten in Harry's hair. "I can't be a good father without you. They deserve more than what I can give them right now."

Harry takes a shaky breath in, but that's all he offers as a response. 

"Annie thinks you're sad. She's been so quiet lately, Harry, she's fucking heartbroken. They all are. They don't understand what's going on."

"Tell them," he says, as if it's not going to be the hardest thing Louis' ever had to do. "Tell them that. . . that I'm gonna go away. But that I. . . I'll always love them. And that they have the best father in the world, so. . . so it's gonna be okay."

He can't do this, can't listen to this. It's clear Harry thinks he's short on time, which he is, but Louis thought he would have a few more months until he had to hear Harry's goodbye. 

"Tell them that I. . . they're gonna grow up and find. . . someone who loves them right. Someone like their daddy."

"H." Tears are pouring down Louis' face, and he doesn't think they're ever going to stop. 

Harry's fingernails dig further into his skin. "You have to. . . have to make sure they know who I am. You gotta promise me, Louis. Don't wanna. . . be a stranger to them. Show. . . videos and pictures and tell them." He pauses, out of breath. Louis rubs his back soothingly. "Tell them stories. Of me and your mum and. . . Robin, tell them about Robin. Promise me."

"I promise," Louis chokes out, nodding frantically. "I promise. I'll never let them forget you."

"And you have to. . . you gotta find someone new. Someone'll treat you right." He turns his head into Louis' neck. It sends chills up Louis' spine from how hot it is. "Not even thirty, yet, babe. . . you can't quit after me."

"You're it for me, Harry. You know that. I will never love someone like I love you."

Harry laughs breathlessly. "Don't have to. Can be. . . just don't want you lonely." He shifts, and Louis doesn't know what he's doing at first, but then he knows that he'll never be okay again when Harry grabs his pinky with his own. 

"Don't, Harry, I can't do this." He buries his head into Harry's neck, and despite himself, he intertwines their pinkies. Harry's is barely holding on.

"Pinky promise me," Harry says, "that you won't be. . . lonely for the rest of your life. Pinky promise me."

Everything hurts. Everything feels broken and like it's never going to be fixed again. He sobs loudly, and he knows the kids can hear it. "I pinky promise."

"Kiss me," Harry whispers, his breath hot against Louis' neck. "Kiss me. Please."

Louis pulls away just enough to grab Harry's face and kiss him, and it's hard to concentrate on the warmth of Harry's lips and the way he can't really kiss back, not really because he's crying so hard and everything fucking hurts. But he kisses Harry for a few seconds and he pulls away to make sure Harry's getting enough air, but Harry follows him and connects their lips again. A shaking hand cups his cheek, and Louis collapses into it like it's the weight of the world and Harry shushes him the best he can when his lungs feel so small. Louis pushes Harry's shoulder to lay down, and Harry listens, and Louis puts their chests together and wraps their legs around each other. He cries into Harry's chest, and Harry drapes his heavy arms around Louis, and a loud, "Izzy, stop it!" makes Louis feel like a terrible father. He reaches in-between them to find his phone in his pants pocket and he texts  _ need someone to watch the kids asap, all is okay  _ and presses send into the Harry Group Chat, and he waits for a few seconds before Ben texts back  _ already was on my way to visit, be there in 5. sure everything is okay?  _ but he doesn't text back because Ben will find out soon enough that it isn't, and Louis bitterly wonders if Harry has enough strength to say goodbye to him, too. 

"Love you," Harry whispers once Louis throws his phone at the bottom of the couch. "Love you. I'm sorry."

"I love you too," he whispers back, and they just hold each other, because even though it's not going to heal Harry's cancer, it feels like it might. Harry jolts up when the door opens, says something about the kids, but Louis pushes him back down. "It's just Ben, darling. It's okay."

Harry blinks at him. "Ben?"

And for a few very scary seconds, Louis can feel his whole world ending. "Ben. Winston. He works for -- "

"I know who Ben is," Harry says, frowning. Louis' whole body sighs of relief. "Why is he here?"

"To look after the kids for a little bit. Wanna spend time with you."

"Oh."

"I love you," Louis says, feels like he has to. "And I'm never gonna forget you, and I'm never going to love someone more."

Harry smiles lazily. "Ditto."

It's only when Harry starts to whimper quietly from the pain that Louis forces himself to get up. He kisses Harry's burning forehead and tells him he'll be right back, but he's not sure Harry even hears him at this point. He stands anyways, wiping at his sticky cheeks with the back of his hand and grabbing his phone before walking to the kitchen. It's late, he realizes, five o'clock. He hadn't noticed it had been five hours, but he doesn't care. Maybe he should, but he doesn't. His nose is burning and his whole body is aching with sadness. He fetches some medicine for Harry that should help with the fever and maybe bring it down some, and then he wets a towel with cold water. As he's grabbing Harry a bottle of water from the fridge, Ben walks in the kitchen with Jack in his arms, and Jack's eyes widen when he sees Louis like they always do.

"Why can't he walk yet?" Ben asks, petting at Jack's hair.

Louis shrugs tiredly. "He doesn't want to try, I don't know. He's stubborn." He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes for a few seconds before looking at Ben. "I'm sorry. You can go home now. Meri and the kids are going to want you home for dinner."

"Liam's coming any minute." He scans over Louis' face for a few moments until he glances down at Jack, who's reaching out for Louis though he's not yet crying for him. "How bad is he? Be honest."

It's like a punch to the gut as reality floods back to him. "He has a fever, and he's -- "

"No," Ben says, shifting Jack in his arms. "I mean how long do you think he has left?"

Oh. "Dr. Cabot said he should have at least two to four good months left in him." He leans back against the counter. "I think it's leaning towards the two."

Ben closes his eyes, and yeah, Harry lived in his house for a good year and a half. He has a permanent home in his heart, too. "And he still hasn’t changed his mind on chemo?"

Louis nods grimly. "He's not going to do it."

"You have to make him, Louis."

"I can't." Louis runs a hand through his hair. His bottom lip shakes, and he catches it with his teeth. "I'm pretty sure he just said his goodbye to me, so it's obvious he's thought this through."

"Shit."

"Shit," Louis agrees. There's a few minutes of silence before Louis eyes Ben carefully. "You have kids," he recalls slowly.

Ben furrows his eyebrows. "I do. Three of them."

"How would you tell them? If Meri was sick or something, how would you tell them?"

A flash of panic flashes across Ben's face, and then he takes a deep breath. "I have no clue."

"Please help," Louis begs, shamelessly, because he has no idea either.

"Wait for a good day," Ben says slowly. "Wait until he can sit there with you when you tell them. Tell them he's going to be with Jay and Robin, that he's going to keep them company. Tell them," his voice cracks, and his hands tighten around Jack. "Tell them it's not their fault. That they can't do anything about it. Tell them it's not supposed to be this way."

Louis nods, because if he speaks he's going to cry and Ben has had to deal with five loud kids for the last five hours and he probably doesn't need a grown man crying on him. 

"Can I go talk to him?"

Louis nods again. He clears his throat with a cough. "He’s, um, he’s in a lot of pain right now, and he's out of it, but yeah. Go ahead." Ben passes Jack off to him, and Jack giggles loudly when he's in Louis' arms, and it helps cool the fire in Louis' heart. Jack presses his face against his shoulder when Louis starts to walk towards the noise of chaos, and sure enough, the rest of the pack are playing in the spare living room. Well, Marion and Isabelle are playing. Annie is staring at Noah who's laying on a soft blue blanket on the floor. She looks so, so sad. 

Isabelle is the first to notice him, and she shrieks happily and immediately goes on and on about fish, because apparently she's taking a liking to that idea, too. Marion listens excitedly, and Annie watches him sadly. Once the younger two have calmed down and go back to coloring, Annie shyly walks over to him. 

"I drew Papa lots of pictures."

"He'll love them, princess," he promises, setting Jack down on the floor. He sits down next to him, and now he can see Annie better. "Are you okay, baby?"

She frowns. "I never got to show him the pictures at lunch."

Oh, that's right. He told them he would do that. Fuck. "I'm sorry. Did you show Uncle Ben?"

She nods. "He liked the fish one best. But I wanna show Papa."

"Papa isn't feeling well, I'm sorry. I promise you, he's going to be a little better tomorrow." He will, because Louis' going to spend all night trying to break his fever. 

"I haven't seen him all day. It's not fair."

Louis reaches to swipe his thumb over her cheekbone, and his hand swallows her. He forgets how little she still is because of how big she acts. "I know, love. But Papa's really, really sleepy, okay? And Uncle Liam's going to be here soon to watch after you lot, and I'm gonna help Papa get better." Her chin wobbles, and God, Louis' doing a terrible job of this. "Annie, it's okay to be sad. It's always okay to be upset, but I need you to be brave right now too, okay? Do you know how to be brave?"

She nods her head slowly. 

"Good, good." He smiles. "If it's too hard to be brave right now, that's alright, love. I know you're scared and confused. But I don't want your sisters to be scared too."

Her chin rises slightly, and yes, that's his girl. She's smart and she's strong and she's brave. She's brave, goddammit. He kisses her cheek and squeezes her shoulder, and then he hears the door opening and he knows he has to go talk to Liam about Harry. "I love you, bug."

"Love you too."

"Go play with your sisters, please. And watch after your brothers." She nods, and she sits down on the ground and calls Jack over to her like he's a dog. He doesn't seem to mind, though, and he crawls over to her. Louis loves them so, so much.

He stands and tells everyone that he loves them before walking back to the kitchen. Ben's back from talking to Harry. He and Liam are talking in very serious, very hushed tones and Louis, for some reason, feels bad for putting them through this.

"What's going on?" Louis asks nervously.

Ben looks to him, his eyes shining with tears. "He said his goodbye to me, too."

"What did he say?" He clutches the counter tops tightly, his knuckles going white. "You don't have to tell me."

"No, it's okay." Ben sits down, and then so does Liam, and Louis knows he should but he doesn't. "He's afraid you won't be okay after he goes."

"I won't be." It's the truth, isn't it? He's not okay now, and he certainly won't be okay then. 

He nods; he knows that, too. "He mostly told me to look after you. That you're going to need a lot of support, and to make sure you're not going to do something stupid."

"I wouldn't do that to the kids," Louis snaps, face pulled in offense. 

"I know, I know. I told him as much."

A loud whimper is heard from the living room, and Louis nods at them. "I have to take care of him," he murmurs, grabbing the things he needs to do so. He pats Ben's shoulder before he goes, and then turns to Liam. "You can leave whenever, but before you do, make sure you say goodbye to him. He seems to think he doesn't have much time left. I think maybe we should trust him on that."

Liam nods, eyes wide. "If you need me, I'm just going to be with the kids. Come get me if you need me. Please."

Louis nods back, and then Harry lets out a cry and Louis makes his exit. Harry's holding himself, and there's another blanket around him that wasn't there before, and his eyes are clenched tightly shut. Quickly, Louis coaxes Harry to take his medicine and drink some water, which he graciously accepts. As Harry drinks, Louis texts Dr. Cabot with one hand and asks if he should take him in, but she says no, that if Louis takes Harry in every time he has a fever, they're going to be in a hospital for the rest of Harry's life, and he feels sick. He lays Harry back down and sets the towel on his forehead. He pets at Harry's hair, and predictably, Harry dozes right off to sleep. 

-

For the next three days, there are so many different people going in and out of their house to watch the children that Louis can't keep up with it all. Anne was here last night, but he's not sure who's here now. He wakes up to the sound of shrieks of laughter, though, so it's obviously someone who the kids like. He smiles softly at the noise, and he reaches out to touch Harry, but he's met with cold sheets. Immediately, he jolts up, concerned, and races downstairs. Harry was doing a lot better last night, but maybe he got worse and somebody took him to the hospital. Oh God, why didn't they wake him up, why --

He's met with a sight he'll never, ever, ever forget. Harry has Marion on his shoulders, and oh, he's the person the kids like so much. He's cooking something on the stove, and Kendall is apparently in London but also in his kitchen painting Annie's nails while also letting Jack nibble on her anklet. Noah is probably still sleeping, and Isabelle is dancing next to Kendall with wet nails even though there's no music playing. It makes his heart so happy, but then he's reminding himself that they only have a few months left of this. 

Louis tries to forget about that and walks further into the kitchen, making his presence known. Jack claps his hands together loudly, shouting, "Da!" and everyone's head whips around to see him standing there, dumbfounded. 

"He's feeling better," Kendall whispers, smiling gently. 

Isabelle rushes to show him her nails, and Jacks crawls over to him happily, and Marion waves at him from Harry's shoulders. He pays attention to them all while simultaneously walking over to Harry. Once he gets there, he wraps his arms around Harry's middle and presses a kiss to the side of his neck. 

"How much better are you feeling?" Louis wonders, reaching around to touch his forehead. It's warm, but a normal kind of warm, and Louis hopes it takes a while for another fever to come back.

"I'm absolutely exhausted," Harry whispers, looking back at him. "But I want to be with them, and I don't care what you say, I'm staying awake."

"Okay. That's okay." He kisses Marion's foot when she shoves it in between them, and holds her ankle as Harry goes back to cooking. "Just tired?"

It's quiet for a moment, and Louis knows it's not just tired, so he lets Harry work up the courage to tell Louis whatever it is. "My gums are bleeding," he says quietly, almost ashamed. "I looked it up; apparently it's normal. But they won't really stop. Like, it's not gushing or anything, but I. I can taste it, and it's really gross."

Louis rubs his back. "It's better than being delirious from a fever, yeah? I'll ask Cabot what to do about it later."

He hums in response, and then he's quiet again, and Louis knows there's more. He waits patiently. "We need to tell them today." Louis' grip tightens on Marion's ankle. "I'm better for now, you know? I can talk to them. Comfort them."

"I know you might not want to hear this, but nothing you can say will comfort them. Believe me."

Harry sighs loudly. "I know that, love. But I want to try."

"If you want to try anything, try chemo."

Harry turns around to look at him, eyes wide. They both have a hold on Marion to make sure she doesn't fall. "I'm finally having a good day and this is how you want to spend it?"

"Boys," Kendall chastises, frowning. "Not in front of the kids."

And Louis' ready to drop it, but Harry sets Marion down and turns off the stove before grabbing Louis' hand and pulling him to the living room. He drags them to the couch, the couch where Harry was writhing in pain a few nights ago, and he doesn't let go of his hand when they sit. 

"You need to respect my decision," Harry says, voice low. 

A scoff comes from Louis. "I have no respect for what you're doing. Literally none. I love you, and I support you, and I will take care of you no matter what, but I won't respect a decision you're making that is taking you away from our kids. From me."

"I can't die knowing you're mad at me for this." 

"I can't not be mad at you. I'm sorry." He really is, honest. He's sorry he can't understand what the fuck Harry is thinking. 

Harry frowns. "We already tried chemo. It didn't work."

"It worked for five fucking years, Harry. If we do it again and all it gets you is a few extra  _ months _ , I'll be happy with that. The kids will be -- "

"Stop using our children against me," he snaps, squeezing Louis' hand. "Stop doing it, because it hurts me every single time."

"You need to fight for them. You need to fight to _ be  _ with them."

"I'm doing this for them, what the fuck do you mean? I won't let them watch me fade away into nothing, Louis."

Harry must have some sort of unhealed trauma from having cancer the first time. Louis hadn’t picked up on it over the years, but maybe it has always been there. Harry seems deathly afraid of chemo, and maybe if Louis was smart enough to urge Harry into therapy after he was deemed cancer-free the first time, they wouldn’t be here. 

"You're already fading away, babe," he says, frowning. He genuinely does not understand. "You're pale and you're skinny and your gums are bleeding."

"But it's on my own terms, and I already know what the outcome is going to be."

He's about to snap back, but he thinks about it for a moment and. . . he doesn't agree with it, he doesn't, but it makes a bit of sense now. Harry's scared, and he doesn't want to get his hopes up. He has no control over his illness, but he does have control over the final outcome. 

"I understand a bit better now," Louis says finally, gently. "But you can't make a permanent decision based on fear."

Harry's eyebrows furrow together. He places a hand on Louis' neck, and smiles softly. "I'm not afraid, Lou. I've never feared death, I. . . I thought you knew that."

"How can you say that?" He pushes away Harry's arm, but he still holds his hand. He's so, so confused. "You should be afraid. You should be fucking terrified of leaving us."

"Of course I am, love. But I can't stop death."

"Yes you can, Harry. God, yes you can." He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes for a moment. All he needs is a moment. Harry pulls him into his chest and whispers about a hundred apologies into his ear.

-

His nose starts bleeding when Olaf's nose disappears through his snow skull, and all three of the girls frown. Jack looks confused as all hell. They're curled up on the sofa, all seven of them. Kendall left just after dinner and the girls wanted to watch Frozen. Noah is sleeping soundly against Harry's chest, and Louis can tell Harry's worried about waking him, so Louis reaches over for the tissue box but Annie gets to it before him. She grabs a handful and presses them to Harry's nose, and she looks so focused, and Louis is so proud of her for being brave for him. She wipes at it until it's stopped bleeding, and Harry is holding back tears by then. 

"Thank you, sweetheart," he murmurs sadly. She doesn't know what to do with the bloodied tissues, so Harry takes them and shoves them in his pocket, making the icky thing disappear as soon as he can. All of them are staring at him, even Jack, and both of them can feel that this is the time to do it.

Louis nods solemnly before taking Noah upstairs and putting him to bed. By the time he gets back to the living room, his hands are shaking and the kids are all sitting on the floor in front of the couch. Louis sits next to Harry, and Harry immediately intertwines their littlest fingers. Annie is staring at them intently, while the other three look confused. 

"We need to talk to you guys about something serious, okay?" Harry's voice is already shaking, and Louis leans against his shoulder to ground him. "I need you to listen to me."

The girls nods while Jack completely does the opposite; he crawls his way over to Louis and demands to be let up, and well, they can't win everything, so up Jack goes into Louis' lap, and in his drawstring goes into Jack's mouth.

"Is it about your nose?" Annie asks, voice small.

Harry makes a small noise, and Louis shushes him, puts a hand in his hair to console him. "I can do this, lovely. Let me do this." 

"Please," Harry whispers, nodding. 

Louis grabs his hand again. This is hard on all of them. "I know you girls have noticed something's wrong with Papa, and I'm sorry it's taken us so long to be honest with you." He's been rehearsing this, and he tries to distance himself from the context and just say the words. "Papa's sick, loves. He's very sick."

Marion looks horrified, and tears are already forming in her and Annie's eyes. Isabelle must not understand yet, she must be too young. And Jack, well. Jack is here because Louis can’t trust him not to do something stupid when left by himself for more than two seconds. 

"He's gonna be okay though, right?" Annie asks, hands trembling in her lap. 

Louis squeezes Harry's hand, hard. "No," he says, voice too hard for his liking but he can't speak any softer or he's going to cry. "No, baby. He's not."

"What's going to happen to him?" Her voice is filled with fear and sorrow, and it shakes the whole time the words tumble out of her mouth. "Daddy, what's going to happen to him?"

God, this is so much harder than he could even imagine. "Do you remember Grandpa Robin and Grandma Jay?" They all nod, because even though they were all too young to remember them, Harry and Louis have made it their duty to keep their spirits alive. "Remember how they had to go away?"

"No," Annie cries, and Harry covers his face with his hand. He's crying, and Louis leans against him again in an attempt to comfort him without alarming the girls something's wrong. Well, he guesses they already know that much now. 

"Papa has to go away, sweethearts." This feels so wrong, and everything he says he wants to instantly take back and say it better. He can't. "He loves you though, okay?"

"I do," Harry says, voice shot. He moves his hand out of the way, revealing the tears running down his cheeks. "I love all of you, and I always will."

All three of them look mortified, and lost, and confused, and Annie looks betrayed, mad. But she keeps her anger locked away and cries instead, and it sets off the other two and then Louis' crying, and then Jack starts crying because he doesn't know what's going on.

"It's none of your fault," Louis chokes out, remembering Ben's words. "And I know it's scary, but there's nothing you can do to help but make him happy, okay?"

"How long will he be gone for?" Marion asks, whimpers more like. She's bloody terrified. 

Louis collects himself the best he can. "When he leaves, he's not going to come back." He's sure he's about to break Harry's hand, and there's definitely going to be bruises in a few hours with how hard Louis is holding him. "He's going to be gone forever, baby."

Annie, sobbing, stands to her feet and launches herself at Harry. It makes the other two run to him as well, and Harry's crying so loudly and holding on to them all so tightly that Louis has to clutch onto Jack's shirt for him not to completely lose it. Jack's still crying, and he won't stop no matter how hard Louis bounces his leg, no matter how many times he whispers in his ear that it's okay. 

That night, they don't ever finish watching  _ Frozen _ but they all fall asleep in Louis and Harry's bed, each of them holding onto a part of Harry.

-

The next morning, Annie is beyond mad at him. She won't even look at Louis, and it breaks his heart but Harry's fever's back so he's forced to ignore it for now. He makes them breakfast and feeds Noah before texting in the Harry Group Chat,  _ he's sick again, can somebody watch the kids? They know, we told them last night, and they're an absolute mess, all of them. I'm sorry.  _ Gemma's there within ten minutes, and nobody runs up to greet her. 

"I've got them," she says, and her eyes are red. "Go take care of him."

And Louis does. He eats, sleeps, and breathes healing Harry for the next two days, and when he starts to feel a little better, Louis tells everybody that they can handle the kids on their own again. Louis helps him downstairs; Harry can't walk that well anymore because of how much his bones are hurting, and he almost slips on the bottom step. Louis catches him and steadies him quickly. Louis will always catch him. 

Marion, Jack, and Isabelle are more than happy to see him up and moving around again, but both of them quickly realize that Annie isn't in the living room, or the spare living room, or the kitchen. 

"Where's your sister?" Harry asks Marion, and he sounds about ready to sleep again. He's been awake for ten minutes, if you aren’t counting the seven minutes it took Louis to get him awake and sat up. It’s getting harder to do that, and this -- the struggles to walk, the extreme exhaustion, the delay in response -- is what Louis was referring to when he said that as long as Harry bounces back as a fever, he’ll have a little while longer left. Harry’s already struggling to regain his strength in-between fevers.

"She's in her room," Marion tells them quietly. "She's very mad at me."

Louis frowns. "Why would she be mad at you, babes?"

"I don't know." She sighs, resting her head on Harry's knee to look up at him. "She said that it's my fault you're going away."

Either from the weight of her words or from a need to shift his aching bones, Harry grabs the counter with his left hand. It makes it harder for Louis to hold him up, but he doesn't say anything because Marion is staring at them with wide eyes, and no. None of this is any of their faults. It's not even Harry's. It's nobody's. 

"Hey," Louis says sternly, frowning. He wants to crouch down in front of her, but he won't do that without knowing for sure Harry can stand on his own. He's hurting badly this morning. "That's not true."

"But -- "

"No," he snaps. "No. None of this is any of your fault, baby, okay? How would it be your fault that Papa's sick?"

Her fingers move to clutch onto Harry's calf. "I don't put away my toys all of the times you ask me to."

"Stop," Harry gasps out, voice hoarse, and Louis had been so focused on Marion that he hadn't noticed that Harry started to cry. "Please, love. It's not your fault I'm sick. These things just happen. It has nothing to do with you, sweetheart."

She juts out her lip in a pout, and God, all the kids do that because of Harry and it's going to be like a punch to the gut every single time after Harry's gone. "Promise?"

"I promise," Harry murmurs. She seems to be convinced, and she happily puts her arms in the air, asking to be picked up. Both of them falter, because it's obvious Harry doesn't have the strength to lift her right now. 

"Why don't you show Papa your new dolls that Aunt Gemma bought you, hmm?" Louis tries, and it works, because she nods and runs towards the living room. He grabs Harry's arm to make sure he has a good hold on him so they can start walking after Marion, but Harry shakes his head. 

"Go find Annie. Talk to her. Tell her to never speak to her sister like that again. I'm okay."

Louis nods, and he lets go of Harry and watches him strain and struggle and limp all of the way towards the living room. Once he sees Harry slowly lower himself to the carpet, he tells himself he can handle it on his own for a few minutes, and then asks Isabelle to go into the living room with Jack. He then has to watch _ them _ make their way, Jack crawling like a pro, and once he sees Isabelle sit next to Harry carefully, because she's always careful around him now, he finally allows himself to seek Annie. He's used to being the one who has to do the reprimanding, but Harry's always right next to him. He's not this time.

His heart sinks as he makes his way to Annie's bedroom and before he even nears her door, he can hear her crying. This isn't how it's supposed to be. These kids are supposed to grow up to be strong individuals with the help of both of them,  _ both of them _ , and his almost five year old daughter shouldn't be bawling up in her room. This isn't part of the plan. He opens her door without knocking, and she's slaving over her desk; papers, pencils, markers, and crayons are scattered everywhere in front of her, and she has a hand against her head like she's stressed, and it's clear she's incredibly distraught. She's coloring something frantically as loud sobs shake her small frame. 

"Annie, love," Louis murmurs, shocked. 

She shakes her head, doesn't even look up. "Gotta make pictures for Papa. Gotta make him better."

For a second, he has to close his eyes. He's not made for this, he's not. He's a good father and he does all of the things good fathers do, but he's terrible at handling his children when they're genuinely sad. He can fix scraped knees and soothe over temper tantrums no problem, but this. . . This he can't do. He forces himself to anyways. Moving slowly as if not to scare her off, he crouches down next to her and sets a comforting hand on her leg. She's shaking. 

"He'll love your pictures, sweetie. Every single one of them. They'll make him super happy, they will, but they can't fix what's wrong with him." She hiccups loudly, her hand stilling for a moment on the sheet. She's coloring in a cat with a purple crayon. "I know it's hard, angel, I know. But there's nothing you can do to fix it better, I'm sorry."

She goes back to coloring, fiercer than before. There's tears all of her creation, and it doesn't seem to bother her in the slightest. "You told me he was okay. That it was just a small ouchie."

His throat closes up and his hands go shaky and sweaty. He did tell her that. Fuck. Maybe he isn't a good father, after all. He knew from the very minute blood hit snow that Harry wasn't okay, and yet he lied to his daughter's face because he was angry. It makes sense, now, why she's been so mad at him. Louis would be mad, too. 

"I'm sorry I told you that," he chokes out, chest aching. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't want him to go away. Want him here."

God, this hurts. Fucking hell. "I know, love. So do I. But sometimes we can't have what we want, right? You know that. This is one of those times."

"I still haven't got to show him my pictures."

"He's downstairs right now," he says, desperate. He should really let the younger kids have their time with Harry, but he can't figure out what else to say. "Come on, let's go show him."

Her fingers shake as they tangle in her hair. "He's not too sick?" 

"No, baby. Not right now." 

She leaps up, knocking Louis' hand off her leg, to collect all of her pictures. She grabs about twenty, and Harry won't make it past ten, but he doesn't have the heart to tell her that. With one hand filled with pictures, she grabs Louis' hand with the other and fuck, he thinks, because he doesn't know what else to. Her palm trembles in his, and he reaches to wipe the tears off her cheeks. 

"Daddy?"

"Yes, darling?"

"I'm sorry I can't be brave anymore."

It hits him like a ton of bricks, but he won't cry in front of her, not again. He just nods, unable to use his voice, and stands like everything inside of him isn't begging him to just feel this for once, to stop hiding in anger and fear and just be unapologetically sad, heartbroken. But he can't, so he lets himself be dragged down the stairs. 

Harry's asleep on the couch. Her fingers curl around Louis' tightly. 

"My pictures," she chokes out, sounding horrified. 

"It's okay, baby. I'm going to wake him up, yeah? So he can see your pictures."

It doesn't take much to wake him up right now; the pain is demanding his attention so loudly that he tells Louis it's sometimes like trying to ignore a hundred wailing children. He's holding himself like he always does now, and his green eyes are so dull and lifeless that it makes Louis breathless. 

"What's happening?" he mumbles tiredly, closing his eyes again.

Louis runs a hand through Harry's hair, tugging at the strands as harshly as he dares. "Annie wants to show you her pictures, Haz."

"Later. Please, later. Hurts so badly right now. Just wanna sleep."

"No, babe. She really needs you right now."

Harry nods and audibly gulps. He takes a few deep breaths and his nostrils flare, but he pushes himself into a sitting position. He still hasn't opened his eyes, and every part of him reveals how much pain he's in. "Can you just. . ." Louis grabs his hand, a silent gesture of reassurance; Louis will wait hours if that's how long it takes for him to get out the words. "I need to take a piss, can you just. . ." And this time Harry isn't trailing off because he can't finish it, it's because he doesn't want to. 

"Yeah. Yeah, come on." He scoops Harry up in his arms, and it's a little hard to balance himself on his feet, but he manages. 

"My pictures," Annie reminds sadly. She watches them with sad eyes as Louis carries Harry towards the bathroom off the side of the kitchen. 

"Just a second, babe," Louis promises. "Watch your siblings, please."

Harry's obviously too weak to stand to use the bathroom, so Louis helps him sit down. Even though Louis' done most of the physical work, Harry's out of breath and exhausted. Louis hums softly and pets Harry's hair and he uses the bathroom, because this is always embarrassing for him, and when he's finished, Louis takes care of everything. The hardest part is getting Harry standing long enough to wash his hands, but it's extremely important right now, so they both manage. He lifts Harry back into his arms, and Harry whimpers softly. 

"I know, baby," Louis whispers.

"Can't do this anymore," Harry whimpers, small. Louis sets him down on the counter once he recognizes that they're going to have a heart to heart moment right now, and he moves in between Harry's legs, puts a hand on his hip. Harry slumps against the mirror, eyes clenched tightly. "Hurts so much, Lou. Feels like. . . like everything's broken inside."

"What can I do?" He would give Harry more pain medicine, but he can't safely give him anymore right now. 

"Make it stop," Harry breathes out. "Can't take anymore of it. It just. . . gets worse at night, and I. . . I need it to stop."

Louis closes his eyes, rests his head against Harry's shoulder. "Sweetheart. . ." What is he supposed to say?

"I'm sorry I'm doing this to you. So much. . . you're under so much stress 'cause of me."

"I can handle it, don't worry." He can't. He's worried.

"If I died. . . right now, we'd both be out of pain."

Louis pulls away like he's been burned, and it's because he has. That's not fair, that's not -- God, how could Harry say that? First off, it's not fucking fair for him to say to Louis, not fair for him to pile on to his agony. But secondly, it's not even true. Harry might be out of pain if he goes, but Louis' will just get much, much worse. 

"I'm going to be nothing without you," he spits, and it's true. He doesn't feel bad because it's true. "Those kids are going to have no clue what to do, because as soon as you die, I'm not going to step up like I should, I'm going to fall apart. They deserve more than that, Harry. And if you died right now, all the pain you're feeling now is going to be transferred to them. To me."

Harry takes long, deep breaths and Louis' forced to listen to it for a good minute or two, and finally, Harry opens his eyes. They still hold no sign of life, not like they used to. "I should eat. I haven't eaten today." And oh yeah, Louis forgot, because he can't fucking keep up with everything going on. He makes Harry eat at least one decent sized meal and a snack a day, and he fucking forgot. It's only nearing lunch time -- Anne fed the kids breakfast before she left -- and it's not like Louis has let him starve for a day, it's not, but he fucking forgot, fuck. 

"I'll make you something while you sit with Annie, okay?" He doesn't know if he purposely did it, but Harry has completely rerouted this argument to Louis feeling immense guilt.

Harry nods. "Thank you." His eyes slip shut again, and Harry takes a shuddering gasp in. "Can you make sure they. . . they know that I didn't give up on them?" He takes another deep breath. "When they're older, and they understand better, I. . . make sure they know I didn't give up."

Immediately, Louis promises that he will, that their kids will never, ever think that Harry quit on them willingly. And it’s odd, how fierce he tells him that while still believing that’s what Harry’s doing himself. 

-

Louis makes Harry an omelet and cuts him up some fruit, because eggs and fruit are about the only thing Harry likes now, and if Louis makes something Harry doesn't like, there's no way to convince him to eat it. Harry's never hungry, his appetite completely diminished, so they stick to things that make his heart happy in an attempt to make his stomach happy. 

After shutting off the stove and grabbing Harry a cold bottle of water, he walks back to the living room to find Annie sitting in Harry's lap. Marion and Isabelle are sitting on the ground at his feet, staring, while Jack is off on his own in the corner of the room doing Jack Things. Noah is laying on a blanket beside him -- Louis had grabbed him and laid him down before he started cooking -- and the whole room is lit up with the noise of Annie excitedly explaining one of her pictures. 

". . . whiskers are orange because you like orange, and the fur is purple because you like purple, and the sky is green because Daddy says green is good, and. . ." She goes on and on and on, and Harry has a small smile on his face but Louis can tell he's still hurting. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's breathing shallowly, which Louis will have to scold him for in a minute. It's not good to avoid breathing properly, even if he's just trying to limit the amount his body moves. 

"Annie, babe, Papa needs to eat." He hates the way she looks offended, and he quickly walks over to plant a kiss on her cheek. "I'm not saying you have to stop. He just needs some room." She brightens back up and slides off her lap, grabbing another drawing, this one of a snail. "Can you eat on your own?" Louis whispers to Harry, sliding next to him. 

He shakes his head. "Don't wanna move."

So for the next half hour, Louis shovels food into Harry's mouth and Annie shows him her pictures. Marion and Isabelle get bored and start playing with Jack's cars, which doesn't make him very happy but then he gets distracted by one of Isabelle's dolls laying a few feet away. He crawls over to that and plays with that instead, and forgets all about the cars. 

Annie's presenting her last drawing -- a family portrait that makes Louis tear up -- when Jack screams bloody murder. Harry jumps in shock and then grimaces in pain, and Louis whips his head up to see Jack holding the Barbie's head and body in two separate hands with wide eyes. 

"I broked it!" he screeches, and Isabelle is too shocked to be mad. She'll throw a fit later, she will, but it'll be when she's tired and Louis can put her to sleep. 

"Jack," Harry mumbles, laughing slightly. "Bring it here, buddy. We can fix it."

And Louis' about to laugh as well, now that the initial fear of his child screaming is out of the way, but it gets caught in his throat when Jack just. . . stands and walks over like he's done it a billion times. Harry's hand tightens on his, the hardest he's held Louis' hand in a while, and Louis feels like he's about to burst with how happy he is. Of course Jack picks this moment to make his walking debut (but also, how the fuck is he so good at it? This isn’t the first time he’s done it, can’t be, it’s just the first time he’s done it front of them), and Louis' so fucking happy that he forgets about the doll. 

Jack doesn't. "Fix it," he huffs, throwing his hands out to Harry with the doll still in them. Louis laughs, loud and sudden, but Harry starts sobbing out of nowhere. Jack's eyes widen, and he plops his butt on the floor like he's done something wrong.

"Hey, hey," Louis whispers frantically, putting Harry's plate on the table next to them. He grabs Harry's face in his hands, scans over to see if he can find any trace of what's wrong, but he finds nothing. Harry collapses into his chest, his hand shaking as it fists Louis' shirt, all the while he cries and cries and cries. 

"Papa?" Annie asks hesitantly. 

"Not right now, sweetie," Louis begs, holding Harry tightly to his chest. "Please take your siblings to the kitchen and make more pictures for him. Leave Noah." 

She looks scared, but nods anyways. She stacks her pictures up and leaves the last one on the couch and slides off of the couch. She grabs Isabelle's hand because she's confused right now and won't move, but Marion follows without being asked to and Jack crawls after them when Isabelle starts calling him like he's a puppy. Once they're gone, Harry's cries only become louder. 

"What is it, H?" Louis' fucking terrified. "Come on, baby, talk to me. You gotta talk to me. Does something hurt, does -- "

"He walked," Harry sobs, and Louis doesn't fucking understand. These aren't happy tears, it's so obvious they're filled with agony, but Jack walking is a good thing. He's tired of being confused. "He walked, and I'm gonna miss him do everything else," he cries, and oh, yeah. Right. Harry's dying. Harry will be dead in a few months, tops.

"Love -- "

"I'm going to miss Noah's first words and his first steps and -- fuck, Lou. Annie's first day of school and. . . and God, they're all going to get married one day, and I'm gonna miss it, I'm gonna miss it, Lou. I'm gonna miss all of it, I -- " His lungs must be burning with how hard he's crying, but Harry takes a deep breath and suddenly he stops. His fingers curl in Louis' shirt. "I have to try."

Louis' breath catches. "What do you mean, darling?"

"Chemo. I need to try it again. I can't miss anything."

And Louis has said this before, but it's the best thing he could hear after Harry's cancer free.

-

Two days later, Harry's back in that comfy chair being pumped with poison, and Louis could burst with how grateful he is. Dr. Cabot ran her tests and found out that no, it's not too late to start chemo and yes, his cancer is far more aggressive than it was last time, but it miraculously hasn't spread anywhere else. It's like the universe was making sure to keep it in place, waiting with its breath held until the day Harry gave in and started chemo. 

It's a good thing that Harry's doing this, and yet Louis hasn't seen him this angry in a while. He still clutches onto Louis' hand. 

"It hurts," he whispers after about fifteen minutes. He has his eyes clamped shut and his toes are curled in pain. He's breathless and pale, and Dr. Cabot told Louis not to worry but that's all he can do. Harry looks on the verge of death. She tells him a lot of it is nerves. "I didn't want this, Louis."

Louis flinches. "You said you did. That's why we're here."

Harry's eyes slowly blink open. "You guilt me into this. You used them against me."

"I didn't fucking bribe Jack to start walking, Harry. He walked to  _ you,  _ not me. Don't fucking start."

They don't talk for the rest of the time, and by the time it's finished, Harry is crying silently. Louis didn't make him do this, but he's happy he is here. Does that make him a bad person? No. It can't. Harry holds himself as he walks to the car, and Louis' insides are churning as he fights the urge to ask him if he's okay. He's just going to get snapped at, he knows it, so he keeps his mouth shut until he can't anymore, which happens when they pull into their driveway. 

"Are you feeling alright, love?" He's looking at the steering wheel, too ashamed to look at Harry. He doesn't know why he's ashamed, it just feels like he should be. 

Harry tilts his head to look at him; Louis can see out of his peripheral vision. "I'm so mad at you right now."

"I didn't do anything, H."

"I wanted to do this on my own terms," Harry says, "and now it's not. Now I have no control over any of this."

God, Louis wants to cry. If Harry really only did this for him, it's good enough, but he can't have Harry mad at him. The first time, Harry was scared of someone's last words to him being angry. Louis understands now. "Please, Haz. Don't do this to me."

"I asked you the same thing." Harry scoffs, running a hand over his face. "My body is filled with poison, and you're the one complaining? I haven't done anything to you."

"Don't talk to me like that," he snaps back, finally looking at Harry directly. His eyes aren't as dull anymore. "Don't be bitter. I just want you better, love, I want you with me."

Harry frowns. "I never thought you were this selfish." Before Louis can object, Harry unbuckles his seat belt and opens the car door. He makes sure to slam it extra loud, and it makes Louis breathless. This can't be happening. The last two days Louis' been filled with so much hope, and now it's shattered completely. 

-

Harry sleeps on the couch that night. Louis makes a bed with blankets and pillows next to him on the ground. 

-

"Auntie Gem is no fun today," Marion whines as soon as they walk inside. The tears in Louis' eyes go undetected by her, and he's grateful. "She made me sit in time out."

Harry walks right past her, doesn't even acknowledge her or Jack who comes tumbling after him with a red block in hand. He looks to Louis, bewildered, because Jack Edward Tomlinson-Styles has never been ignored a day in his life, and all Louis can do is smile softly at him as Harry goes upstairs to their bedroom. Louis won't go after him; he won't face the embarrassment of being locked out of his own room like he did last night when Harry had woken up to find Louis sleeping on the ground and left. 

"Is he still upset?" Gemma asks, moving a strand of hair out of Marion's face. 

Louis nods. "He hasn't spoken to me all day." The hardest thing Louis has ever had to do is sit in silence after Harry ignoring his "I love you". His heart still stings. 

"And the kids? Has he talked to them at all?"

"He told Annie not to waste food. That's it."

Gemma frowns, clutching Noah to her chest in what looks like fear, almost. "That's not like him at all."

No, it's not, and Harry doesn't act like himself for the rest of the first week of chemo. He's moody and standoffish, snapping at the kids who're just wanting a bit of attention because he's been ignoring them for the last week. All Harry does is eat and sleep, and occasionally venture downstairs to start an argument with Louis. It's terrible, and Louis feels like he's walked through hell and back by the time the week is over. The only time he's let Louis help him with anything is when he was vomiting into a toilet bowl for fifteen minutes straight and he was too weak to stand on his own afterwards.

Louis feels like his husband has disappeared. And no, they never got officially married, but that doesn’t matter. Didn’t, anyway. Now Louis’ kind of saddened by the fact that Harry might die without ever being legally married. 

But it’s hard watching Harry act like this, especially when it’s so obvious it’s coming from a place of intense fear. Harry must be sick of crying, so he’s leaning towards anger. And if he would just talk to Louis, Louis’ pretty sure they could fix this, but Harry’s somehow clutching onto the idea that Louis forced him into chemotherapy. 

Again, it’s just coming from fear. But that doesn’t make it any easier. 

Louis makes everybody breakfast on his own, but he doesn't eat because he has to feed Noah. Annie's been quiet all morning because Harry had told her to stop acting like such a brat last night, and to be fair, she was picking fights with everyone, but that was only because she was hurt that Harry was ignoring her. He's about to tell her to cheer up when Harry walks into the dining room, a blanket draped around his shoulders. 

"Did you make some for me?" he asks, voice small.

Louis nods a bit too enthusiastically. He sets his plate and everything. "Yeah. That's your plate." He motions to the plate next to him. Harry thanks him quietly and takes a seat at the table, and everyone's so tense and quiet that Louis starts to feel antsy. 

"I'm sorry, Annie," Harry whispers after a while. He glances at her briefly. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, and I apologize for being rude to you."

She smiles a little, perking up. "It's okay, Papa. Daddy told me that you're sad like I was when I couldn't find my blankie."

Harry looks at him sharply. "Please don’t tell them that I’m sad," he says, voice low so only Louis can hear. 

"I haven't had much help the last few weeks, so god for bid I'm making some mistakes."

Harry takes a deep breath before nodding. "I know. I'm sorry." He reaches out to trace his finger down Noah's nose. "I want you to sleep in bed tonight. Please."

He scoffs. "Wow, I'm so honored.” He didn’t think he was as hurt from Harry’s behavior as he clearly is, but he doesn’t exactly blame himself. Being basically kicked out of their room was a low blow; even after huge arguments, they sleep in the same bed. They always have done it that way.

"We'll talk later," Harry murmurs, planting a kiss on Louis' temple. 

"Will we?" Because Harry's barely spoken to him all week. 

"Let's just have a nice breakfast, yeah?" Harry smiles at him, and it's genuine. Louis hates holding his breath around him, but that's what it has come to.

-

Later comes, and Harry's puking in the middle of the kitchen floor. It's not exactly something to worry about since the chemo is still in his system, but it sends the kids into a frenzy and they're screeching and Louis' turning off the oven in a hurry.

"But the brownies!" Marion screams, and Louis shoots her a 'not now' look and rushes over to rub at Harry's back. He's still retching, and he's holding his stomach with one arm and the other is holding himself up so he's not face-planting into his vomit. 

"Hurts," he whimpers, and Louis shushes him because he doesn't want to worry the kids more than they already are. Once he's done puking, Louis shoos him to the shower; it's all stuck in his hair, and Jack is staring at them, horrified. He keeps the door open, though, so he can hear if Harry falls or starts puking again, and he warns the kids not to go in there because then they'll really be scared. He turns the oven back on and cleans the puke, and when he finally catches his breath, Annie's running over to him, crying. 

"Hey, not in front of your sisters, please," he whispers, wiping her tears. It's not fair, because the kids still don't know about chemo. They don't know Harry has a chance of getting better because they don't want to give them false hope, so of course she's going to be sad that Harry upped and puked all over the floor. "Papa has a bit of bellyache, that's all, loves," he tells them all, and Isabelle is staring at the now-cleaned puke spot on the floor with a grimace and Marion just wants her fucking brownies. Annie seems to be the only one who properly understands.

When Harry emerges from his shower, the kids are eating their brownies and Harry is back to being moody and quiet. He goes directly to their bedroom, ignores Marion's happy announcement of brownies without flinching. Louis loves Harry with everything he has, and he knows he's going through something right now, but that's not an excuse to neglect his children, especially since they aren't old enough to understand. 

Louis' in charge of everything for the rest of the day; lunch, dinner, snacks, diapers, tantrums, a cut on Isabelle's finger. The only three times Harry even makes an appearance is to eat with them at dinner, say goodnight to the kids, and while Louis' making his bed on the couch.

"I told you I wanted you to come to bed," Harry says, making Louis jump. 

"God, Harry. Don't fucking sneak up on me like that."

"I didn't," he says, and to be fair, he just walked in. Louis' simply sad and tired and tired, and did he mention tired? because he's so fucking tired. He can't get any sleep down here in the living room when he doesn't know if Harry is still breathing upstairs. "Come sleep in our room. Please."

Louis sighs, rubbing at his forehead. "I don't want to be in thereine night and kicked out again the next. It's going to confuse the kids. I've told them that you snore, and it keeps me awake at night."

"I know I've been distant lately -- "

Louis snorts.

"Hey, stop. Please." Harry sighs, wrapping his arms around himself. It's almost funny, the way Louis' body tense in an attempt to determine whether he's doing it out of pain or embarrassment. After a moment of hard determination, he thinks it's the latter. "I'm having a really hard time right now. Not just, like, physically."

This isn't a conversation they should be having at ten o'clock at night from separate sides of the room, but Louis isn't about to ask him to come closer. He's been mistreated for the entire last week of his life, and he's not going to be the one to make the first move at mending this small tear in their relationship. "What do you mean, H?"

Harry closes his eyes and wets his lips with his tongue. He reopens his eyes, and they shine with tears in the poorly-lit room. "I feel like I'm, like, drowning or something." His arms grow tighter around his stomach. "Like, I'm under water or something and I can't get to the surface. As soon as I wake up, I want to go back to sleep and I can't tell if it's from the cancer or something else. It's scaring me."

Louis sits down on the couch and takes off his glasses to rub at his tired eyes. "Depression is common among cancer patients," he recites, and then he wants to take it back because he shouldn't be educating Harry, he should be sympathizing with him and helping him. He's too tired. 

"I'm not depressed," Harry snaps. "God, Louis, I'm finally telling you how I feel and all you want to do is rush to diagnose me with something else."

And no, Louis’ not dealing with this right now. He doesn’t have it in him. "Harry. I want to sleep. I'm not doing this right now." He sighs. "I'll talk to Dr. Cabot tomorrow -- "

"That's your solution to everything."

"Because she's your fucking doctor."

"I didn't want a doctor."

"Stop," Louis snaps, balling his hands into fists. "I don't know how you got it so fucking twisted in your head, but you were the one who finally gave in to chemo. I was willing to sit back and watch you decay. I was willing to do that for you."

"No, you weren't." Harry looks seconds away from stomping his foot. "You said you were angry at me. It's my body, Louis, I should've been the one to make the decision on what to do with it."

Louis groans, throwing his hands in the air. "You came to me, you realize that, right? You came down here to start an argument with me, just like you've been doing all week. Is this it for us now, Haz? You moping around until you come up with a good enough excuse to yell at me? I'm sick of it. I'm not doing it anymore."

He watches Harry take a step backward and inhale roughly. "Don't threaten me with our relationship, Louis. Don't fucking do that to me, this is all I have. It's the only thing I haven't managed to fuck up yet. I can't do this without you." His shoulders start to shake, and Louis watches in shock. "Don't stop loving me, god, please. I know I haven't been much of use lately but I'll do better, I'll try harder, I'll -- "

"Harry," Louis whispers, surprise evident in his voice. 

"Don't stop loving me, Lou. Please."

"That's not what I meant." His throat is tight. He's so sick of crying. "I could never stop loving you, that's -- I just meant that things have to change from how they've been this last week." He's not sure what else to say, but before he can even think, Harry's barreling towards him and practically tackling him. Louis holds him while he cries into his neck, and he's not sure how he could ever fall asleep with Harry crying in his lap, but he manages to do so tonight.

-

A month later, not much has changed. Harry's on his second round of chemo, and Louis' back to sleeping in bed but they haven't spoken to each other outside of Kid Things and Cancer Things in the last two and a half weeks, so it doesn't feel like a win. It's torturous, not being allowed to help Harry with anything anymore, but it's what it has come to. There was no fight, or big falling out, Harry's just stopped talking to him and Louis is forced to suck it up and deal with it. Louis' done a good job of hiding it from everybody else, but everyone is coming over for dinner in attempts to cheer Harry up, and they're sure to figure it out sooner or later.

An alarm blares, and he quickly reaches to shut it off. He sighs loudly, turning to see if it disturbed Harry. It hasn't. "Harry," he mumbles, reaching over to smooth over his bald head. They shaved it two and a half weeks ago; maybe that's what silenced Harry. Harry sat in front of the mirror with tears running down his face, and he looked so, so defeated. It wasn't a great bonding experience like it was last time. 

"You have to go to therapy, babe. Wake up." 

That's changed, too. Harry goes to therapy two times a week now. He has chemo straight after it. They can't muck up today's schedule: therapy, chemo, sleep, dinner party. It has to all work, and Harry has to be present for all of it. It's going to be a challenge. 

"I don't wanna," he mumbles back, turning around to face Louis. When he's sleepy, he tends to forget he's supposed to be ignoring Louis. He stares at him for a few seconds before reaching out to touch Louis' cheek. It's weird and foreign, and Louis almost pulls back. He doesn't. "Will you come with me?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Fine," Harry says, almost snapping. He sits up, and Louis quickly follows. 

"Hey, hey. I didn't mean it like that and you know it, so stop." He grabs Harry's hand. It seems like it's allowed right now. "You've never invited me to tag along. I'm just wondering what's changed."

"Dr. Wilson thinks it'll be best for me if we work out whatever's been wrong with us." He glances at Louis. "He says he thinks my trouble in communicating with you is the route of my problems. Besides the cancer, I mean."

Louis nods. It makes sense, but, "we wouldn't have trouble communicating if you would just talk to me, babe."

Harry just stands and starts to get dressed. He slides on a beanie -- it's the one Louis made him all those years ago, he realizes, and it makes his stomach churn violently -- and then a hoodie and jeans. By the time he's done with that, he has to sit down, breathless. 

"Will you let me put on your shoes for you?" Louis asks.

"No. I got it."

Louis sighs, standing up, because apparently he needs to get dressed for a surprise relationship counseling session. He'll have to ask someone to watch the children, and fuck, he promised Isabelle that he'd make smoothies for them this morning, and Jack has been a tyrant lately, more than usual, and --

"What are you doing?" Harry asks, almost snaps. 

"Getting dressed? We're going somewhere, aren't we?"

"You clearly don't want to come," he says, standing up. He slips on flip flops even though it's February. 

(His birthday was a good day. Not at first, because Harry woke him up sobbing, talking about how this would probably be his last birthday ever, but after Louis calmed him down, it was an okay day. Harry tried to play with the kids and he went out on a walk with Louis, and then at night, Harry was back to crying hysterically, but that’s still considered a good day.)

"I never said that!" Louis cries, exasperated. "If me going to this thing is going to help you stop hating me -- "

"You think it's stupid, don't you?" Harry rolls his eyes. "Don't come if you think it's dumb."

"Oh my fucking god, Harry --" and he shuts his mouth once he hears a small squeak coming from the door. It's Annie, and she's still in her pajamas and she's clutching onto one of her stuffed animals. She has a blanket draped over his shoulders, because that's something the kids do now because Harry does it so much. "Oh, shit, hey, love."

"You just said two bad words," she points out, but her voice sounds croaky and hoarse, and she sniffles loudly. She wipes her nose with the back of her hand, and to confirm Louis' heart-stopping fears that she's sick, she coughs loudly, not covering her mouth. 

"Hey, hey," Louis says, harsher than necessary. "Out, come on. You can't be around Papa when you're sick." Tears well up in her eyes, and she steps closer like she wants to go to Harry anyway, and Louis nearly pops a blood vessel when Harry reaches to take her hand. "Stop it," he snaps, slapping Harry's hand away. He steps between the two of them like they've been caught doing something awful. "Annie, go downstairs right now. I mean it."

"But Daddy -- "

"Annabelle Grace, I mean it. Go." He doesn't mean to be so mean, but she could literally fucking kill Harry right now, and no,  _ no _ , he's not going to have their daughter's simple cold kill him. She'll never forgive herself for it. 

She bursts into tears and then runs downstairs, judging by the way her feet thud against every step. Harry makes an angry noise, low in his throat, and Louis doesn't want to hear it right now.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He's looking at Harry with wide, angry eyes. "Are you actually kidding me? She's as sick as a dog, and you think you can just touch her hand right after she wiped her nose with it? Seriously? Do you have a death wish?"

"She's my daughter," he says, incredulously. "Of course I'm going to want to comfort her. But maybe you don't understand that because you just turned her away after making her cry."

"You've done a lot of that yourself these past two months, haven't you?" Louis seethes, and it's the truth. Harry's only yelled at her once, but him not really engaging with the kids is really taking a toll on them. Louis is good at distracting them, and he's convinced Harry to start taking his naps on the couch to let the kids know that he's there, he's not gone yet. 

Harry scoffs and goes to walk away, but Louis grabs his wrist. "Don't go down there. Let me calm her down and get her a surgical mask to put on first."

"Louis," he breathes, eyebrows furrowed together. "We're not making our daughter wear a fucking mask."

"The first time you had cancer and your spleen ruptured, after I had continuously brushed you off when you told me something was wrong, I felt terrible. I still haven't forgiven myself for it." His fingers tighten around Harry's wrist when he tries to pull away. "Hey. Listen to me, please. If you die because of her little cold, she'll never forgive herself for it."

"I'm not going to die."

"You don't know that, and I'm not taking any chances." 

It’s true, and Harry realizes that. He nods once, and it's clear he's completely broken up about it. 

"You aren't being a bad father, Haz. Go wash your hands. Please." And Harry nods again, so Louis starts to make his exit to go pick up the broken pieces, but Harry grabs his hand. 

"Wait," he pleads, and Louis turns around, confused. They don't do this anymore. They argue and one of them gives up and then they leave each other alone. "Kiss me," he whispers. "Want you to kiss me."

And he doesn't fucking understand, he doesn't _ understand _ . He hasn't kissed Harry in. . . he can't even remember how long it's been, god. So why now, all of the sudden, after two arguments within five minutes does Harry want a kiss? He might not ever find the answer, because Harry pulls him in and kisses him hard. It's hard and it's dirty and it's mostly teeth after a few seconds, but Louis lets it happen and pulls Harry closer, his hand shaking as he places it on the back of Harry's neck. Harry reaches to shut the door, and Louis pulls away, blinks tiredly. "Annie, what about -- "

"She'll be fine," he insists, and it's not the truth. Their daughter is sick and crying after being rejected, and they're acting like terrible, irresponsible parents right now, but Harry is walking backwards towards the bed, and Louis can't say no to this after this long. 

They fuck, and it's so rough that Louis legs ache afterwards and he worries he's hurt Harry. It's not like he has a giant fucking sex ego, but Harry's weak and sick and they should've gone slower, done it softer, but Harry waves him off when he sees Louis staring. 

"I'm fine," he says, still breathless. "Great, even. Go take care of Annie, please."

Shit, fuck, fuck, yeah. Their daughter whose heart is broken right now because of him. But his hair is a disaster and he's shirt has come on it, and he's so dazed and confused that talking to a small child right now sounds like hours of physical labor. 

"Lou," Harry whispers, and he looks like he's about to fall asleep. "Gotta go help her."

"Yeah. Yeah, I will. Get dressed." He scratches at his beard, feeling awkward. "We're gonna be late, fuck."

"Not going," Harry mumbles, and as if his body was waiting for those words, his eyes slip shut. "Cancel for me, yeah?"

"Harry, you need to go to therapy. Your mental state is just as important to me as your physical state. You're severely depressed; I don't think we should fuck with that, love, and -- "

"Stop using that word," Harry demands, turning around on his stomach. "I have cancer. I can be sad."

"I understand that, but -- "

"Go downstairs before I do," Harry spits, finally snapping. "God, why do you make everything so complicated?"

"I can't fucking stand you sometimes," Louis spits, standing up on wobbly legs. "Fuck you." 

And yeah, this sounds about right. This is familiar.

-

By the time Niall and his boyfriend come, (because yeah, Niall's had a sexual awakening or something), there's already been three temper tantrums, two runs to the bathroom because Annie has to vomit, and one massive fight between Harry and Louis over nothing. Harry started crying randomly and he was trying to hide it, and Louis asked what was wrong, and Harry got defensive. He’s feeling far too vulnerable lately, and it pains Louis to watch him flail around like an exposed nerve. Louis' sweating and out of tears by now, and he's completely unfazed by Marion screeching at Isabelle for ruining her stack of Oreos. 

"That bad?" Niall asks, grimacing at Louis' expression. 

Louis laughs breathlessly. "He's having a bad day. Emotionally wise, I mean. He," he sighs, wiping at the sweat collecting by his hairline. "He's asleep right now. Chemo was really hard on him today."

Niall's boyfriend, Lance, frowns. "Should we cancel, or something? We don't want to intrude. I'm sure everyone will understand."

"No," Louis says far too quickly. Louis sighs again when he hears Jack's wails. "I can't deal with his crap on my own tonight," he says honestly. "I'm about done with it, if I'm honest." He's been off all day, and he had to shower because of how dirty he feels. Harry used him for a quick fuck and tossed him aside, and maybe it’s different because they’re married, but it still feels crappy. "I'm hoping somebody can please him, just for a few hours. I'll be fucking ecstatic." He smiles then, opens the door a little wider so they can come through. "Oh, and Annie's sick. If you touch her or touch something of hers, please wash your hands. We can't have Harry getting sick."

-

Things, for once, actually go smoothly for a few hours. He wakes Harry up once Anne gets here, and everyone is having a good time. There's food and there's games and there's movies, and people are laughing and having fun, even Harry. It's when dinner starts and Harry and Louis have to sit across from each other when things start to crumble. Louis' having a conversation about kids and school with James Corden and his wife when Louis Annie shyly walks over to Harry and asks to sit on his lap. 

For a split second, Louis wants to fucking kill somebody. Harry picks her up and seats her in his lap like it's nothing, like it harms no one, and if looks could kill, Harry and Annie would both be dead from the glare Louis' giving them. And yes, Annie is innocent in this, but goddammit. He tried explaining to her why she should stay away from Harry for a little bit without absolutely horrifying her, and maybe he should’ve scared her just a bit to avoid this.

"Harry," Louis says lowly. Not everybody has put two and two together of how dangerous this situation is, so the majority of their company continues chirping about. "Please put her down."

Liam, who's on the left of Harry, nods in agreement. "We don't want you getting sick, mate."

"She still has her mask on," Harry murmurs, waving them off. People go back to their conversations, but with hesitation, and a tension arises. Louis' almost positive it's radiating from him, and he doesn't care. 

It's like Harry thinks it's all a fucking game, because after about three minutes, Harry subtly takes Annie's mask down from her ears. He sets it on the table, and Louis watches with trembling hands as Harry feeds her a small piece of a biscuit with his fingers. 

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" Louis nearly shouts, and he doesn't care that everyone goes silent and his children are looking at him with wide eyes, he doesn't. He can't, not when Harry's fucking with him by putting himself in danger. 

"Louis, just stop," Harry bites back, hand resting on top of Annie's head. She knows she's done something wrong, and she' starts squirming in his lap.

" _ You  _ stop," Louis snaps, desperation clear in his tone. "What are you doing, Harry? What the actual fuck do you think you're gaining by doing all of this stupid, reckless shit?"

"Louis. . ." Anne murmurs, but she's looking at Harry with desire to know as well. 

"I'm spending time with our children, is that so fucking bad? I'm _ dying _ , Louis, fucking spare me if I want to spend time with them."

Somebody should really get the kids out of here, they really should. Nobody moves a muscle, too stunned to do anything but watch. 

"Then where have you been these last few months?" Louis' shouting now, and he can feel his face go red with it. "You sure as hell haven't been spending much time with them!"

"Yes, I fucking have."

" _ When? _ " he all but screams. "Is it before or after I wake them up and make them breakfast? Before or after I do the washing up and drive you to chemo and stay with you for hours? Is it when we get back and I make them lunch? No, it's not, because I still have to manage five fucking kids while I'm doing the dishes and cleaning up the messes they've made. It's certainty not at dinner, and it's most definitely not at two o'clock in the fucking morning when Noah's screaming bloody murder and you fucking _ ignore  _ him!"

That last bit seems unfair; sometimes Harry’s so exhausted that he sleeps through Noahs’ cries, and when he does wake, Louis tells him to go back to sleep. Regardless, the point still stands.

"I have fucking cancer, God forbid I'm tired. It's your fucking fault I sleep all of the time, I never wanted to do chemo in the first place!"

"Oh my fucking God," Louis seethes, standing from his chair. "How many times do I have to tell you that you are the one that agreed to do it? I didn't hear you objecting! And you're tired because you have fucking cancer, not because of the fucking chemo, the very thing that's saving your life!"

Harry's chin rises, and he's glaring at Louis. "Would it really be so fucking bad if I died?"

Louis nearly sees red with how mad that makes him, and Annie finally makes her escape off of Harry's lap. It sends Ben the message of getting the kids out of the room, but nobody else leaves, and the fighting continues. 

"You have five kids, how can you even say that?"

Harry stands now, too. He doesn't look as threatening as Louis does, not with his pale and clammy skin, and Louis finds sick victory in that. "Stop using them against me. Stop acting like I don't care about them."

"Do you? Louis snaps. "Do you at all? Because they sure as hell don't know it. Noah probably wouldn't even fucking recognize you at this point. Do you even remember what his nursery looks like?"

"Stop trying to make me the bad guy here. You aren't doing too fucking great, either."

And that's what makes him completely break apart. "I do everything for these kids! I cook, and I clean, and I listen to all the fucking stories about the fucking fish I promised them that they still don't have. I got two hours of sleep last night because Jack wouldn't lay down, but I still did what I had to do all day. When Annie was fucking bawling her eyes out because she's so afraid that we're going to split after we had a fight today, you fucking went upstairs and went to sleep. You went to  _ sleep _ , Harry, how are you not the bad guy in this situation? And on top of all of the kid's shit, I'm expected to put up with yours, too. I make you meals, and I remind you to take your medicine, and I do all of your laundry, and when you decide to start throwing a temper tantrum like a child, I have to be on the other end of it. I sit with you through chemo, even when you don't say a word to me, and I massage your bones when they ache, and I -- " He takes a deep breath, runs a hand through his hair. "I do it all, and I rarely complain because I do it all for you. I don't do it for the kids, and maybe I should, but I don't. I do it all for you."

Harry looks completely unbothered. "Maybe we should."

Louis blinks. "Should what? What are you even talking about?"

Harry rubs at his nose, shrugging carelessly. "Split up. It's clear you aren't happy."

And fuck that, Louis' not going to bow down to Harry and take back any words, because he meant them all. So he crosses his arms and shrugs back. "I'm not. I'm not happy."

"Then fine," Harry spits, but there’s an edge of desperation to it. He doesn’t mean what he’s saying; it seems like he never does when he’s mad, so Louis doesn’t understand where it comes from. 

"Then fine," Louis echoes. He finally calms down and takes a look around at everybody who's staring at them, shocked. Gemma's crying. So is Lottie. Louis' eyes lock onto Nick's. "You can sleep at Nick's tonight," he murmurs, looking back at Harry. "It's not like the kids with notice a difference."

He barely makes it upstairs to his room before he falls to the floor and finally gives into the sadness. 

-

Harry doesn't stay at Nick's that night. Louis realizes this when he's being shaken awake by two hands in the middle of the night. 

"What do you want, Harry?" he asks, shutting his eyes again. 

"Will you come to the bathroom with me? Please?"

And Louis' beyond pissed at him, but he'll never, ever deny Harry at his lowest point. Because this is it, his lowest point: shaking Louis awake at four o'clock in the morning, even after their argument, because his stomach is doing somersaults and he always wants Louis to be there by his side when he knows he's going to have diarrhea. It should be weird, or at least gross, but it's not and it never has been. If Louis can be there for him, no matter what time of night or what it costs, he'll do it.

"Yeah," Louis mumbles, wiping at his face. He grabs his glasses from the nightstand and clumsily puts them on before tossing the blankets off of him and sitting up, his legs dangling off the bed. "Let me check on Annie and then I'll be there."

Harry nods, his figure moving in the dark. "Can you maybe bring me some pain meds? It's really bad right now."

"You already had your nightly dose," he says, frowning. "What time did you take them? You still should be good." Concern and worry are flurrying around his brain. Harry shouldn't be in any terrible pain right now -- Dr. Cabot has framed his medication times around his sleep so he can actually get some -- and if it's as bad as he says it is right now, something's wrong. 

"I really need to go to the bathroom," he mumbles, standing up. He shifts his weight on his feet for a few quick seconds before sighing. "I forgot to take them."

Louis closes his eyes, frustration boiling in the pit of his stomach. Harry didn't forget shit, he simply doesn't keep track of when he's supposed to take what medications when. That's Louis' job. "Go to the bathroom," he sighs. "I'll get it for you after I check on Annie."

Annie is sleeping soundly, her head resting on Niall's chest. He comes to the realization that he's not sure who is in his house still and who has gone home by now. He never came back downstairs when he stormed away. Niall's sleeping, too, and Lance has created a makeshift bed on the floor next to her bed. He's thankful, because even though he trusts Niall's judgement of people's character, he wouldn't be comfortable with a relative stranger sleeping in his daughter's bed. After deciding that it'd be better if he let her sleep, he quietly shuts the door and wanders to the kitchen to grab Harry's pain meds and a water bottle. As he reads the label on the bottle just to make sure he's grabbed the right one, a voice comes from behind him. 

"You two can't split up."

Louis sighs. He needs to hurry up so he can go be with Harry. "Don't worry about it, Z," he murmurs, taking two tablets out of the container and putting it back into the cabinet. 

"You can't, Lou. You two are, like, the most in love people I've ever met." 

"Stop, Zayn, seriously.” He turns around to look at him, and Noah's sleeping in his arms. It pulls on his heartstrings. "Me and Haz need to talk about it before everyone loses their minds. Even if we do split, it's not like anybody's moving out or anything."

"Louis -- "

"I need to go help him," Louis dismisses, shaking his head. "Thank you for watching after Noah." Before he leaves, he kisses Noah's forehead and squeezes Zayn's shoulder. He makes his way back up the stairs and before going into the bathroom, he grabs his tablet so Harry can distract himself. He puts the medicine and bottled water on the nightstand and walks into the bathroom. 

"Hurts," Harry winces from his spot on the toilet, and Louis nods. 

"I know, love. I know it does." He presses a kiss to Harry's cheek before sitting down next to him on the floor. He lays his head on Harry's tense thigh, and the toilet bowl feels too cold against his jaw, but he ignores it and powers on the tablet to pull up _ Friends _ . 

They get through an entire episode by the time Harry finishes, and Louis' back is aching but he doesn't mention it. He helps Harry with everything he needs help with, and Harry doesn't put up much of a fight when Louis makes him wash his hands twice. Harry crawls back into bed after taking his pain meds, and Louis can't believe he's actually shocked when Louis doesn't climb in next to him. 

"Lou, please." He sounds like a child, and looks like one, too, when he pats the bed next to him. 

"I have a lot of things to do," Louis tells him, keeping the hostility out of his voice because he knows how ashamed and vulnerable Harry feels right now. 

"It's four thirty in the morning. What can you possibly need to do right now?"

"You don't even wanna know."

"Yes, I do. I can help." He's biting on his bottom lip, hard, and Louis regrets putting so much guilt on him. Harry has been absent far too often these last few months, but the majority of his time upstairs is spent sleeping, and that's exactly what Harry needs right now. 

"You need to sleep."

"Lou -- "

He sighs, shaking his head. "You need to be strong for chemo today, and you especially need to flush that cold out of your system as soon as possible." He knows he's being unfair, knows that they should talk this out. But he has a maybe house full of people to apologize to, a toy room to clean, bills to pay, doctors to call, and about a million more things to do before six o'clock, which is when he has to drive Harry to therapy at six thirty.

"I love you," Harry whispers sadly, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I'm sorry for this, for everything."

"I know you are," he responds, lips pressed in a straight line. He gets halfway down the stairs before realizing he didn't say 'I love you back'. He doesn't turn around. 

Louis goes back upstairs about an hour later to check on him, and Harry’s crying in bed, clutching onto Louis’ pillow. Louis sighs quietly before crawling back into bed with him and cradling him close to his chest.

“Is it from pain, or are you sad?” he asks quietly, right over Harry’s ear, and Harry lets out a particularly sharp cry.

“I don’t mean to be so bad to you,” Harry cries, and he sounds like he’s in agony with how sad he is. “I just hate it. I hate everything right now. And I get so mad, because -- because none of this seems fair, and I,” another loud cry, “I love you so fucking much, and I don’t know why I’ve been treating you so awful lately.”

Louis gathers him up even tighter in his arms. “I love you, too. Try to sleep, baby. We can talk about this later.” Harry protests weakly, and Louis shakes his head. “You’re going to feel like shit after chemo if you don’t sleep now. Please sleep. Please.”

Harry sniffles and pillows his head against Louis’ arm. He still has the pillow hugged tightly to his chest, and Louis pulls the blankets over them. “I love you,” Harry says, sniffling quietly. “I love you more than I ever thought I could love someone.”

“Ditto,” Louis says, kissing his cheek. “But seriously, love. Sleep. And dream of happy things, please.”

Harry does fall asleep, and Louis silently holds him and prays that he gets the happy dreams, too.

\- 

After chemo, Harry is exhausted more than usual, and that's what Louis thought last session, too. It seems to be taking a greater toll on him each time, but Louis reminds himself that a little fatigue is okay. There's been little to no complications from chemotherapy besides the standard nausea, vomiting, and exhaustion. It could be much worse, so Louis doesn't complain. 

Like usual, the kids come running inside and whoever's been watching them that day follows around the corner looking exhausted as all hell. Today it's Niall and Lance, and there's a hickey on Niall's neck that wasn't there this morning, but Louis doesn't say anything about it because the kids don't look scarred. And like usual, Harry's quiet and doesn't match the kid's excitement at all, and like usual, Louis turns to him with Jack in his arms and sighs. "I'll wake you around noon, yeah? So you can take your meds."

Annie starts saying that no, she'll be the one to wake Harry up and she's looking up at Louis with wide eyes as if searching for his approval. He smiles at her after making a mental note to talk to her about yesterday a little later. 

"I think I'm going to try and stay awake for a little while," Harry says quietly, and he's staring at Louis with wide eyes, too. It makes his heart plummet, because Harry shouldn't be going against his body's desires right now. If he wants to sleep -- and by the way his eyes blink slowly, he does -- he should sleep. But Louis has planted seeds of guilt and fear in him, and it's too late to do anything about it. The kids roar in excitement and they all go off on their own little tangents, and Harry has to sit down before they get very far. 

-

"Are you okay?" and he's asked Harry the same question every five minutes for the last two hours, because Harry looks paler than normal and he has two fingers pressed against his temple, his eyebrows furrowed tightly together. He has his head resting on Louis' thigh, and Noah's sleeping with his little head leaning against Harry's chest while the other kids are putting on a play for them. It started as a remake of  _ Frozen _ , and then Isabelle wanted to be Boots from  _ Dora the Explorer _ \-- which, alright, to each their own -- and it's fallen apart from there. They're all singing and going off their own little scripts, and Jack's not quite sure what's going on so he's playing with his blocks; to make sure he has some attention, he's doing it in front of Isabelle, Marion, and Annie, trying desperately to ruin their thunder. It's entertaining to watch, it is, but it's hard to focus when Harry looks seconds away from passing out.

"Have a headache," he mumbles, and it's finally the truth. He's been nodding in response to Louis' questions all day, and finally, they're at the truth. 

"Because you're tired. You've been home from chemo for three hours; your body is used to sleeping right now." He places his hand over Harry's forehead, not-so-subtly checking for a fever. They're good. "It's important not to mess up your sleep schedule."

"You're the one who wanted me to stop sleeping so much," Harry says darkly, and shit, they should've talked this out during Harry's session because they had plenty of time to do so, and it wasn't in front of the kids. "I'm doing this for you."

"What do you mean? I never told you to stop sleeping, Harry. I told you that I can't do this on my own anymore." He laughs on cue with whatever Isabelle just said, and she looks happy. "You sitting here, being present -- that's great. But this is the easy part, babe. I can handle this part on my own. It's the cooking and the cleaning and the tantrums I need help with. Do you know how much of a hassle it is to put five kids to sleep when every single one of them expects a bedtime story out of me? I don't do it right, apparently, so none of them want to go to sleep, and it's hard, Harry. Those are the parts I need help with, and you aren't much help when your brain is exploding because it needs sleep."

Harry sits up slowly with Noah in his arms, but it's clear he'd do it much faster if he could judging by the fierceness in his eyes. "All I ever do is try not to disappoint you, and I always fuck it up." He doesn't even yell it out of spite or hiss it from anger he just. . . he whispers it, like it's a secret that he's so terribly ashamed of and that he wholeheartedly believes. It feels like all the breath has been knocked out of his lungs, and at this point neither of them are paying any attention to the kids, but Louis' brain is whirling because -- what? That's not true, that's --

"Harry," he breathes, shocked. Harry's eyes fall, his fingers shaking against Noah's soft blanket. "I'm so fucking proud of you," he almost snaps, setting his hand on Harry's forearm. Harry's not the problem in this situation, he's not. He could try a little harder sometimes, but he's done nothing wrong. "I'm so proud of you," he repeats, and he finally gets a reaction from Harry, who lifts his eyes to meet his. 

"You shouldn't be," he whispers. "You can't be." He sniffles, looking back at the kids. "I'm so weak, and not just physically."

"That's fucking absurd, Harry, what -- " He literally can't believe what he's hearing, can't believe he hasn't realized it sooner. "You've beat cancer once already, and the doctors are hopeful you'll do it again. That's incredible, babe. That's. . . And you're an amazing father, Harry. Like, the best. The kids -- the only one who prefers me is Jack. And I'm not saying that's -- I mean, that's okay, yeah? I get it. But we've taken in five kids who could've gone to, like, terrible people. And you've never complained once. I. . . I get frustrated and say shit, but you never do."

The whole time he speaks, Harry's looking at him with wide eyes and with teeth sunk into his bottom lip. When Louis pauses, Harry shakes his head a bit. "I haven't been a good father in months."

"That's not true, God that's -- Harry, come on, love. Don't say that." He can't have this conversation like this, not when the kids could easily hear if they wanted to, not with a baby in Harry's arms. Louis feels like he's about to burst with guilt, and Harry looks seconds away from passing out from exhaustion. They can't be having this conversation right now; it can't wait, it can't, but not here. He tears his attention from Harry which feels so, so wrong right now and looks at the kids. "Hey," he calls lightly, gaining their attention. 

"Louis, don't, it's okay."

Louis ignores him. "Why don't you lot figure out what you'll do next, hmm? I don't care what. Maybe we could go for a walk or something."

Harry frowns gently. "Maybe we could all go for a walk later? I wanna come." It's clear that he actually does and he isn't just saying that; the sun feels like magic for his bones, apparently. Louis doesn't understand why he doesn't stay outside all day if that's the case. Harry says he doesn't want to take it for granted. 

"Okay, walk later, then." He stands, and Jack looks up from his blocks. "Well, me and Papa are going to go chat in the other room for a bit, and then he's going to take a nap. Annie, watch -- "

"I will," she interrupts. She sits on the carpet next to Jack, and she doesn't look particularly happy, but she still flashes a smile at him. Louis understands, he does; she's not even five yet. (Her birthday is in four days, and Louis is hoping and praying that Harry can manage to spend a few extra hours with them.) She shouldn't have to watch after her siblings all of the time, especially because Louis knows what a pain it is, but Louis has no other option. 

Harry stands, then. He makes his rounds throughout the kids and kisses each of their foreheads. Harry had confessed to him a while back that he's afraid he's not going to wake up when he falls asleep. Louis trails behind, and as he kisses Isabelle's cheek, he catches something out of the corner of his eye. His whole chest hurts and it feels like his world is coming to an end when he watches Harry, with Noah still in his arms, sway to the side, obviously about to fall, when he walks. Louis stands, his knees about to buckle in fear, but Harry catches himself on the wall before he can fall. He's breathless, and so is Louis, and his hands are shaking. 

"Love," Louis murmurs quietly, rushing towards Harry. He tries to do it subtly because the kids don't even realize something horrific could've just happened, and he wants to keep it that way. Dizziness is something Harry's rarely experienced, if at all, and Louis knows it's because he's exhausted, he knows it, but it doesn't take away the scariness of it. 

"I'm okay, he's, Noah's, he's -- I wouldn't let anything happen to him," Harry says all at once when Louis gets close enough. He's holding Noah, who's still sleeping, like he's made of glass, and it's pretty damn accurate. "I got dizzy," he says, tears shining in his eyes. "I wouldn't let anything happen to him."

"I know that," Louis whispers, but still, he makes a move to grab Noah. Harry doesn't object, probably afraid, too, but it still hurts them both. "Are you okay now?" he asks once Noah settles down, his eyes barely opening. 

He sets his head back against the wall, his hands still shaking in front of him. "Feels like I'm gonna vomit, and like my eyes are going to explode with this headache, and I'm so tired I could cry because of it, and -- "

"Are you still dizzy?" Louis asks, interrupting him, because he knows all of this. Maybe it's selfish, but that's him. He's selfish. 

"No," he whispers. "Not really." His falls crumples, then, and he clenches his eyes shut. Shakily, he asks, "If I can't be a good father, and I can't be good to you, who even am I anymore?"

"I don't know," he whispers back, because no amount of consoling can help dull the self-loathing Harry so evidently feels. 

-

Louis tells Harry they'll talk later, and later is scheduled to be after dinner, which Harry wants to be present for. It's stupid to allow Harry to push himself like this, but they've just came back from their walk and it had been so lovely, Louis wants to allow himself enjoy this for a bit longer. 

Like always, it's almost painful to watch Harry eat. The kids don't take any notice of it, so Louis tries not to draw attention to it. It's just so hard. Harry's wearing a grimace and he's poking at the food with his fork, and Louis knows he's not hungry -- he never is anymore -- but he still has to eat. Sometimes it's harder for him to convince himself then other times, but tonight he seems especially not up for it. 

"You ate some oatmeal earlier," Louis murmurs, not taking his eyes off of Marion as she chirps excitedly about her favorite show. "If you eat a little, or none at all, that's. . ." He squeezes Harry's knee under the table. "Try, yeah? And if you can't, it's okay. I'm not going to force you to eat it."

Harry shakes his head. "It's not that," he whispers, and it sounds forced, pained. "Something's wrong, I feel like."

Louis tears his gaze from Marion and looks at him, eyes wide. "Wrong how? How wrong? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"I don't know," he confesses, and if he were smart, Louis would drop everything and take him right now. Harry never, ever wants to go to the hospital, so the fact he's willing should be worrying. Louis pushes it down. 

"Tell me what you want to do and we'll do it." 

Harry thinks for a few seconds before sighing. He looks guilty. "Wait until after dinner, yeah? Then we can go. That way I can text Mum to watch the kids."

"Anne was here this morning, while we were at chemo." Louis sits back in his chair, jimmies his phone out of his pocket. "I'll see who's up for it. It's late, you know? Not many people are going to be willing, so if we need Anne, she'll come, obviously. But I just want to check our options."

He gets a nod in response, and the rest of dinner carries out seamlessly. Nick'll come over -- apparently Tyler took Amelia out to give Nick a break, but he's the only one who responds -- and they tell the kids, who're over the fucking moon about it. They like Nick for some reason, really like him, and Louis doesn't hate him anymore, but he knows damn well Nick must be giving them bribing money or cookies or something, and it drives him a bit nuts. As dinner ends, clean up begins, and of course the kids don't show any interest in helping out much. Louis lets it slide this time, because they need to clean up quick so they can go. 

"Louis," Harry says, sounding slightly panicked. Louis looks up, and Harry's drenched in a thin layer of sweat, and he's clutching at his heart. "Can we go? Now? I -- " His fingers dig into his shirt, and shit, shit. Shit. 

"Yes, yes of course." He turns off the sink and dries his hands off quickly before guiding Harry by his shoulders to steer him towards the door. "Put your shoes on. I'm gonna go tell Annie to keep a close eye on everybody until Nick gets here." He'll be here any minute, and logically, Louis knows they'll be okay for a few minutes by themselves. But it still seems scary, 

Harry, with a clenched jaw and shaking hands, seems to agree. "We need to wait for Nick, we need to wait." He whimpers quietly, and Louis doesn't know what to do, he doesn't know what to do. They can't take five kids to the fucking ER, but making Harry wait seems stupid, and if they call for an ambulance, paps will eat it up like crazy and they've still managed to keep Harry's return of cancer under wraps. Fuck, why is he worrying about the fucking press, he needs --

Before his brain can explode, Nick is knocking at the door and both of them look relieved. Louis rushes to answer it, Harry standing a few feet away by the shoes, and Nick's smile quickly fades when he sees Louis' face.

"Guessing this isn't a spontaneous dinner date," he says, and Louis nods. 

"Yeah, no. I need to take him to the ER, his heart, something, I don't know, I just -- "

"Go," he says, nodding wildly. He gets out of the way of the door and Harry walks outside, still no shoes, and still breathing shallowly. Louis quickly follows after grabbing his keys, a pair of socks and shoes for Harry and wraps his arm securely around Harry's shoulders. He helps him into the passenger side, shushing him sternly when he protests that he could do it himself.

-

There's a blood clot in Harry's right lung. (Always the fucking lungs, Jesus Christ. First pneumonia and now this.) Despite how bad it sounds, it's not that big a deal. They caught it early enough and the only thing they need to do to make it go away is for Harry to take some medication. Another pill, as if Harry doesn't already take a billion. And Louis knows Harry's not happy about it, not at fucking all. He's silently moody and only huffs out quiet responses with the doctor asks him something, and his hand keeps twitching in Louis'. 

"How long do I have to be here?" Harry says, snaps almost, like this is somehow the doctor's fault. Dr. Cabot would roll her eyes at Harry since she's used to him, has seen him go through bouts of depression and through his bad days, but this doctor blinks in surprise. Louis forgets how tall and intimidating Harry looks, even in the way he's shrunken with the chemo. 

"We'd like to keep you overnight," the ER's doctor says slowly. "Due to your condition, we want to limit any possibilities of complications. If we've somehow missed something or this triggers something else, like an infection, we want to be able to treat it right away. You'll be discharged in the morning, if you choose to stay."

Goddammit. As soon as the words leave her mouth, Louis knows he's in for a fight. Harry won't stay unless he absolutely has to. A clot isn't terribly scary, no, but if any doctor in the entire world has so much as a hunch that Harry should stay overnight, Louis wants him to, and now that's not going to happen. 

He's right. He shouldn't be disappointed; he expected it. But now they're sitting in the parking lot because Louis' hands are shaking too much from anger and Harry's too tired to drive, and fuck. Fuck, Louis' so fucking pissed, because all he wants to do is take care of Harry and Harry has to make it so fucking impossible. It's not a fucking flu, it's cancer. Harry's already been given so much luck in all of this -- the side effects are manageable, the cancer didn't spread, the chemo's working -- and Harry just wants to keep pushing and pushing it. 

"Do you want to die?" he asks, because he has to know. Louis needs to know if he's putting in all this energy for a sick person or for a dying person. Harry has the choice between those two options, not Louis. He just needs to know. 

Harry's response comes immediately. "I want to be out of pain."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"Yes, it does."

So it's a yes, then. If it was a no, Harry would've just said so. Louis closes his eyes, rests the back of his head against the car seat. "I'm so mad at you."

"I know."

And no, that's not good enough. He constantly feels like his stomach is in knots and his brain is fried, that his limbs are made of cement. Louis puts in just as much blood, sweat, and tears into this as Harry does, and it's not fucking fair that Louis' the one who has to hold the emotional burden of it all. He'll hopefully never understand the physical pain Harry's undoubtedly in constantly, but fuck, Louis' is pain, too. He's up to his neck in it. "Guess now's the time to have that talk," he says coldly, cruelly. Harry's terrified of Louis leaving him, how dare he use that against him right now, but too fucking bad.

There's a heavy silence, and Louis opens his eyes to glare at Harry, but then he sees Harry clutching his stomach and it all goes away. That anger, that sadness, that fear -- it's all exchanged for red hot worry. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Are -- "

"I'm just nauseous, Louis," he snaps sharply. "It's nothing out of the ordinary, stop worrying."

Okay. Okay. He can do that. But his brain doesn't turn off, and there's a buzz of anxiety humming loudly at the base of his skull. "I'm sorry for being so suffocating all of the time." The words fly out of his mouth before he can even think of thinking them, and he doesn't know it's true until they're up in the air. He is sorry. So sorry. He just doesn't know how to stop it. The first time around, Harry made him go to a therapist because of it. He did, but stopped immediately after Harry started remission. Maybe he shouldn't have. 

"It's okay," Harry whispers, "I know it's scary for you." He shifts slightly to push himself up so he's not slouching anymore, and Louis' limbs tense and tighten as they beg him to rush forward and help. He keeps them at his side. "It's just. . . everyone does it. Everyone treats me like I'm about to explode, and I -- " he stops, eyes shining with tears. After taking a deep breath, he continues, "I'm not used to you treating me like everybody else treats me, that's all. You've always been different. But the minute the big 'C' word comes in, it's like I lose you. Like, you become just another scared face in a sea of millions."

"I'm sorry," because there's nothing else for him to say. 

For the first time since they got in the car, Harry looks at him. His eyes are big and wide and scared, but at the same time, so, so empty. "We can't divorce, Louis," and his words are so fierce they cut like knives into Louis' heart. Before he can respond, Harry's back to staring at a blank wall of the building. "Just wait until I'm in remission. Please. If I die, I want to do it knowing I'm loved by you, and you can't take that away from me. You can't, I'm serious, I won't ask for everything else, I swear, just -- wait until I'm cancer-free again. Don't make me die divorced and unloved."

He looks so serious, so sad, and fuck, Louis did that to him. "I don't want a divorce," he promises quickly, and they’re both ignoring the fact that technically, it’d just be a break up considering they aren’t legally married. "God, babe. Not now, not when you go into remission, not ever."

"I've been horrible to you." His voice is trembling, every single syllable sounding like it's sending an earthquake through Harry's body. "To -- to you, to the kids, god, I -- I don't mean to be. I try not to be. But then I get so -- so fucking sad, and so angry, and I just. I don't know."

Tentatively, Louis reaches across the console to set a hand on Harry's forearm. When Harry doesn't push him away, he starts to rub soothing circles there with his thumb. "I understand, babe. I do. But the kids don't, and you've maybe got to try a little harder not to lose their patience with them. They don't know you still have a chance."

Harry grows tense under his touch. "I don't. Have a chance, I mean. Doesn't feel like I do."

"Harry -- "

"Can we just go home?" Harry interrupts, moving his arm slightly so Louis will know to stop touching him. Louis does, retracting his hand and putting it back in his lap, useless. "I'm sorry. I just -- I want to see the kids. And Nick."

So Louis starts driving home, and they barely make it two minutes before Harry starts crying. 

-

Harry is so emotionally fragile when they get home that Louis orders him to go straight up to their room after saying goodnight to the kids. He needs space right now, time to breathe, and he also needs Louis to love the absolute shit out of him, because apparently he hasn’t been doing a good enough job of that lately. 

He asks Nick to stay for a little while longer, and Nick looks a bit bummed, but he agrees anyway.

When he gets upstairs, Harry is sitting on the edge of the bed with his fingers looped through his shoelaces like he started to untie them and gave up. That in itself is enough of a sign that Harry’s having a rough time right now, but the defeated looks on his face makes it that much more obvious. 

“Let me help, love,” Louis says, coming towards him. He bends down in front of him and ignores Harry saying he can do it himself, he just needs a minute. He unties his shoes and gently takes them off before setting them to the side. He takes his socks off as well, figuring he’ll grab Harry a new pair. This pair was by the front door, they probably aren’t the freshest. 

There’s a dark bruise on the top of Harry’s foot, and he frowns, glancing up at Harry. Harry shrugs carelessly. 

“Guess I hit it on something,” he says, and his voice is empty, void of any emotion.

“What do you need, babe?” Louis asks, leaning forward to rest his chin on Harry’s knee. “We can watch a movie, or go to bed. We can even go for a walk, if that’s what you want. It’s cold out, but we can bundle you up.”

Harry looks near tears again. This is why he wanted him to stay away from the kids tonight. “Can we take a bath? I don’t -- I don’t want to have sex, I just want a bath.”

Louis nods and stands. He runs his hand over Harry’s head, feeling like he has to touch him in some way at all times right now. “Of course. How hot do you want it?”

“What you usually do, please.” 

Louis nods again and goes to the bathroom to start his bath. As he waits for the water to heat up, he questions what to do with Harry. He doesn’t want his depression getting worse, but he’s already going to therapy and he refuses to take any antidepressants. 

Harry’s shirt is off when Louis gets back, and his pants are unbuckled and pull down barely, like he couldn’t convince himself to lift up and take them off completely. Louis eyes him carefully before deciding not to ignore this. 

“Hazza, babe. What’s wrong, hmm? You just tired?”

He nods. “Fucking exhausted all the sudden.”

And that’s fair. Harry went through some stress tonight, and his body must want time to recollect itself. He can sleep in the bath. He probably will, judging by how tired he looks. Louis will just make sure he doesn’t fall asleep himself and that he gets them out of the tub before they shrivel up entirely. 

Harry is quiet as Louis helps him get undressed, and he allows himself to be guided to the bathroom and settled in the bathtub. Louis is laying behind him, enclosing Harry to his chest with his legs. 

“I’m so scrawny now,” Harry mumbles, and he doesn’t sound upset about it, so Louis doesn’t push it too much. He just kisses his head and then the back of his neck. 

“You’re gorgeous, babe.”

Harry makes a quiet noise. 

They don’t talk for a few minutes; they just lay in the warm water and go off in their own littles worlds. Louis thinks about Annie’s birthday party in a few days, and Harry thinks about something else. 

Breaking the silence, Harry quietly asks, “Should I write them letters?”

Louis frowns, confused. “Who? What do you mean?”

“The kids,” Harry says hesitantly. He drops his head to Louis’ shoulder and shuts his eyes. “Like, for milestones I won’t be around for. Eighteenth birthdays and wedding and graduations and first days of school. Should I write them letters, so they still have me on those days? Or do you think that’ll prevent them from moving on from my death?”

A layer of hot dread settles itself over Louis’ chest. He hates when Harry talks about dying like it’s a sure thing, like he has no chance at getting better. He does; he  _ is  _ getting better. And it’s also hard thinking about Harry possibly not being around for those days. That’ll be so, so hard on all of them, and he can’t imagine Harry not being there. Harry deserves to be there, for everything. 

“Maybe,” Louis whispers. “But not right now. Not when you’re healthy.”

Harry lets out a loud scoff. “You call this healthy?”

“What I’m trying to say is don’t write death letters until you’re actually for sure dying,” Louis says bluntly. “If something goes wrong, if the outcome suddenly becomes much worse than what it seems likely to be now, then yeah, I think writing them some letters would be nice.”

“And if I’m too weak to write?”

“Then you’ll tell me what to write and I’ll write it for you,” Louis says, hoping that’s somewhat comforting to Harry. He doubts -- and he cringes as he thinks this, hopes that he’s not jinxing anything -- that Harry will go from being relatively healthy to unable to write or speak without warning. 

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding. He waits a few seconds to ask, “And what about you? You want a letter?”

Louis doesn’t say anything, momentarily too choked up to respond. 

“I’ll write you one,” Harry whispers. “I’ll write you a hundred.”

Louis tries to crack a smile. He doesn’t know who it’s supposed to calm. “Hand might get sore.”

“It’s okay.” He shifts around slightly, and the water splashes in response. He stays settled against Louis’ body, practically just an extension of him at this point. “I’ll write you a letter, Lou, I just need you to tell me you want one. I don’t want to complicate your grieving, you know? If a letter will do that, I don’t. . . I don’t want to make anything worse.”

Hot tears burn Louis’ eyes, and he has to take a few steadying breaths before he can respond. “You can write me a letter, Haz,” he says, and his voice comes out shaky. “Not until you’re sick-sick though, alright? Which isn’t going to happen, but. . . if it does, you can write me a letter.”

“Okay,” Harry says. “I will.”

Louis squeezes his hand. About three minutes later, Harry falls asleep against Louis’ shoulder. 

-

“You never came to bed last night," is Harry's greeting the next morning. Louis' cuddled up with a pillow on the couch, staring at the boring morning TV programs, and yeah. He never came to bed last night because he never stopped feeling broken _ , _ and he knew he wouldn't be able to fall asleep. The idea of reading a letter from a dead Harry didn’t sit well with him. He just kept imagining the kids reading them, on birthdays and graduations and at weddings, and it hurt his heart so much, but he couldn’t stop. 

"You never came to bed last night," Harry repeats. 

Louis tries to smile. "I wasn't feeling very tired and I didn't want to wake you by tossing and turning." 

It seems to be a good enough answer for Harry because soon enough, he's climbing onto the couch and curls into Louis' side. Louis wraps his arms around him and pets his head as he tries to discreetly pour as much love into him as he can. He's not ready to lose him yet, not yet, please, not yet. 

Every time he touches Harry, a part of his brain screams that. He’s gotten used to it enough to drown it out, but it’s making itself known today. 

"I sleep better with you next to me" Harry murmurs as he sets his head against Louis' shoulder. It feels like their dynamic is back, settled into place once more, and it feels. . . temporary. Louis hates to think that, but he’s sure this isn’t going to last forever. Harry’s going to go back to being prickly and scared, and Louis’ going to go back to being exhausted and short-tempered.

"Last day of chemo for a little while," Louis reminds. He tries to sound cheerful, or hopeful, or anything other than tired and sad, but it doesn't work. 

Harry makes a small noise of discontent. "Don't want to."

"I know you don't, sweetheart."

A little pause falls into place before Harry sighs loudly. Louis' about to ask him what's wrong, but before he can, Harry's already telling him. "I don't feel well today. Like, mentally."

Oh. Mentally. Louis knows all the ins and outs of physically and emotionally, but not mentally. He doesn't understand that one yet. Harry hasn't let him understand; he’s refused to talk about it much until now. So Louis' going to do his best to understand right now, for Harry. "Why not?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's 'cause you weren't in bed." As if to test out the theory, he nuzzles his head into Louis' neck. "Feel a bit, like, clearer now. But I woke up and I kind of just felt. . . blah."

"Blah?"

Harry nods. "Blah." 

"What does that mean, babe? Can you explain it to me?" And he knows he's doing that thing he does when something is new with Harry: he coaxes it out of him like he's a child. He's not sure if it annoys Harry, but he knows it would annoy him, so he tries to stop. 

"I don't know. . . slow, I guess. I feel slow. Sluggish. Not all the way here." 

Oh. That's. . . oh. "Can I do anything to help? I want to help."

"Just be here," and Louis can feel himself relax because yeah, he knows how to do that.

-

Harry's quiet for the rest of the day. Even when he's talking and interacting with the kids, there's this quietness vibrating from him. It's like he's acting shy, almost. Everything he does, he does it slowly and timidly and hesitantly. It's not like Harry, not like him at all, but maybe it is. This has been Harry's reality for a while. Louis' just allowed to see it now. He’s forcing himself to acknowledge it now, too. 

The worst of it comes after dinner. Harry went upstairs to lay down because the nausea got the better of him, and even though Louis wants to be mother-henning the absolute hell out of him, he can't, and it sucks. While he juggles five kids pulling on him different ways all at once, all Louis can think is,  _ is he okay? Does he need me? Does he need to go to the hospital again? Please let him be okay, please let it be just nausea.  _ Louis isn't dumb, he knows that his worry is so bad right now because of that stupid blood clot scare, but that knowledge doesn't do anything to help him calm down. So he balances five kids and a heart heavy with worry until they all go to sleep, except for Jack, who refuses to be anywhere but Louis' arms right now. Louis' too tired to fight him on it, and he sits with Jack sitting on his knee, both watching a highlight reel of tonight's footy game that he missed. That's when he gets a text from Harry, who's supposed to be sleeping, that reads,  _ please come to our room, don't feel good at all. I'm sorry,  _ he ends it with, like there's something to be sorry for, like he can help the way he's feeling. Maybe Louis' made him feel like he should be. 

"Jack, darling," Louis murmurs into his ear, "please, please don't be a tyrant and go to sleep." Jack babbles something back, eyes focused intently on Louis. By some fucking miracle, Jack doesn't make a fuss when Louis puts him in his crib. Not wanting to upset the peace, Louis practically runs out of the room and towards his own. 

When he walks into the bedroom, exhaustion pulling on his eyelids, the bed looks so, so tempting. His pillow and blankets are screaming at him to lay down, and the only thing that stops him is the fact that Harry's not in bed, and by the sound of it, he's vomiting his insides out into a toilet bowl. A string of fear sounds in his heart and that's it because he can handle Harry puking; he's used to it even. Puking is normal. It's Harry's least favorite part, but it happens every single day he's on chemo and a few days after. 

This time, for some reason, feels different. Maybe it's because of yesterday's scare or because he's tired, but as he walks into the bathroom and sees Harry, he just wants to cry. Harry's eyes are glossy and wet as his cheek leans against the toilet seat -- it's clean, Louis cleaned it this morning, nothing can be dirty -- and he's collapsed in front of it like he can't hold himself up anymore, like he's been at it for a while and has officially given up. He's dry heaving and coughing roughly, and when he finally sees Louis standing there, he self-consciously wipes at the dribble of drool on his mouth. 

"I'm sorry," he says again. His voice sounds broken, destroyed.

"Don't be, Haz. There's nothing to be sorry for." To prove it, he sits next to Harry and pets at his lower back gently. He winces as Harry's body collects more things to throw up and they come spewing out of his mouth all at once, and when it's all out, he lets out a shuddering breath. 

"I'm so sick of this, Lou."

Louis frowns, kisses his shoulder softly. "I know, sweetheart. I know you are. But the chemo will be out of your system in two days and they'll be no more throwing up for a little while."

"Until next month," Harry whispers sadly.

"Until next month, yeah," because it's the truth. It's the truth.

He watches Harry reach forward with a shaky hand to flush the toilet and then turns around to face Louis. He looks even more shattered like this, up close. He stares at Louis for a couple of long seconds before leaning his head against the wall and closes them. 

"I don't want this anymore."

Fuck. "Harry. You'll get through this, okay?" He reaches to attach his fingers to Harry's socked foot because he needs to touch him, needs to ground him. He can't let Harry get too far away from him. 

It's too late, it seems, because Harry opens his eyes and stares at him again. After a few more long seconds, after Louis watches tears collect in his eyes and threaten to spill over as Harry's bottom lip quivers, Harry takes a deep breath and asks, "Would you hate me if I stopped chemotherapy? If I didn't do it anymore?"

"Yes," Louis says quickly, because it's the fucking truth. He'd be so fucking pissed at him, so hurt, so, so betrayed and angry. The thought of it alone is enough to make his blood boil, to turn to fire, and maybe it's wrong. Maybe he should let Harry be the one to decide what happens to his body -- no, Harry definitely should be the one to decide what happens to his body and what doesn't, because it's his, it's not Louis', Louis shouldn't have a choice at all -- but fuck.  _ Fuck.  _ He's not ready to lose Harry, and he won't ever be, but not right now. Not like this.

(If it were the other way around, Harry would support Louis' decision in not doing treatment wholeheartedly. He wouldn't be mad, wouldn't be hurt, because that's not who Harry is. Harry would love him and take care of him and never once be mad about it, and he wouldn't explode on him at dinner parties in front of all their guests, because Harry's a better person than him. Harry, who's plagued with a nasty disease that's eating away at him, is better than him. And it's never bothered Louis until now.)

Harry clenches his eyes shut tightly, too tightly. His face contorts with so much raw emotion, so much sorrow that it feels like a punch to the stomach. His fists bunch up and his nails dig into his skin as if he tries to suppress a sob and it doesn't work all of the way -- a loud noise that almost sounds like choking escapes him. But then he nods, a quick movement Louis almost misses. "Okay," he chokes out. "Okay. Fine. I'll keep going." He peels his eyes open and Louis wants to puke at how hurt he looks, how pained. "I just hate knowing that, even if I keep doing chemo, I could still die. You might be making the last few months I have hell."

And then he's jolting up and spewing more vomit into the toilet bowl, and Louis feels like he's his whole world is ending. He just watches, feeling helpless and like he's been burned, or something. That's -- that's not -- how. How could Harry say that to him, how -- how could he even _ think _ that? Louis just wants Harry here, alive, for their children and for him, that's -- even if all it buys him is a couple more months, that's all Louis wants. He's not trying to torture Harry for fucks sake, he just wants the kids to get more time with him,  _ he  _ wants more time with him. How dare Harry say that to him, how fucking dare he, how --

The anger quickly fades and now he's just sad. Empty, kind of. Numb. Like everything is too much right now, like all of his emotions were too high too fast and now they've just flatlined. Harry groans quietly and flushes the toilet again. A part of Louis wants to tell him to stop, that he shouldn't keep flushing the toilet if he's not done, but Harry stands before Louis can even try to wrap his tongue around his words. Well, he tries to, tries to hold himself up with the help of the sink but he fails. He's too weak right now and his limbs shake from overexertion. Normally Louis would be pouncing to help him and he'd start whispering comforting words in his ear. Now, though. Now Louis just stares at him with wide eyes from the floor, doesn't even blink when Harry asks him for help. 

"Lou, please," Harry says again, now back on the floor. "I want to go downstairs, I want -- "

"Do it your fucking self," Louis snaps. The anger's back and it's brighter than before. He stands to his feet and Harry's eyes follow his movements. Maybe it's cruel to rub in the fact it's easy for Louis, but he doesn't fucking care. "How dare you fucking say that to me. How dare you."

Harry blinks tiredly at him. "I didn't mean to upset you." And his voice is soft, too soft, like he really didn't mean to. Like he actually thought Louis wouldn't be fucking upset by that. Which -- which no. Fuck that. Fuck him. Fuck everything. Fuck cancer and fuck chemo and fuck all. 

"Fuck you," he spits, seethes, before storming out of the bathroom and down the stairs. His head doesn't stop feeling like it's about to explode until he's outside in the backyard, and even then, it still feels light and heavy all at once. It's cold outside, too cold, and it reminds him of Christmas when Ben begged him to put on a jacket before going out to wipe away the blood from Harry's nose. The memory stings his skin like ice, but it helps take him back down to earth, because it helps soothe the fire in his veins.

Even after he gets his head clear and his breaths even, Louis' still so, so mad. And hurt. Betrayed, almost, because how dare he say that to him. Harry Styles is many things to Louis, and cruel isn't one of them, but now. . . now it feels like Harry's the cruelest person in the entire world. Louis doesn't have to feel guilty for wanting Harry alive, he's not going to, and Harry shouldn't fucking make him feel like that, make him feel like he's doing this terribly selfish thing for no reason, because there is a reason. There's five reasons. And fuck Harry for saying that to him; he's not asking him to cut off a limb, he's asking him to stay alive for them. Why is that so bad? Why does that make Louis the bad guy?

It doesn't. It can't. 

He hasn't got a clue on what to do next, but he walks back inside. As soon as he opens the screen door, he's met with cries and his brain tiredly starts doing jumping jacks; that's Noah crying, he probably doesn't need anything, but Louis is going to have to check on him anyway. He walks into the kitchen to see Harry sitting on the bar stool. 

Louis' gazes hardens. "Guess you didn't need me, after all."

"Please stop," Harry whispers. His face is tucked away into his arms as he leans against the counter, probably for support. "Will you please get me some water? My throat hurts, and I -- "

"Stop talking," he snaps back, but he does it anyways because of course he does. He doesn't stick around to watch Harry's hand tremble around the glass to bring it to his lips; their child is wailing and Harry looks completely unaffected by it. Surely he is, must be, because for the first week they had Annie and she wouldn't stop crying, Harry felt so guilty. Louis kept telling him that it was okay, that it's what babies do, but Harry was clutching onto her like it was him doing something wrong. Now, he pays no mind to Noah. 

So much has changed. 

The cries get louder as he approaches Noah's nursery. The door's already open, which is weird, but Louis doesn't let himself worry too hard, too tired to do more than furrow his eyebrows. The confusion lingers when he opens the door to see Annie reaching for Noah through the crib's bars. She's whispering quietly to him. 

"Noah, you've got to be quiet. Noah, you can't wake Papa. Don't you know Papa's sick? Noah, Noah, Noah, please be quiet. Noah, hush. Noah -- " Her fingers are just out of reach of touching Noah but she keeps trying anyways, and Louis smiles gently at the sight. 

"Darling," Louis says. He walks next to her and grabs Noah out of the crib with ease, smiling at her the whole time. Things have been weird between them since the dinner party. Which breaks Louis' heart, especially because as she pulls further away from Louis, she becomes closer and closer to loneliness because it's not like she's getting closer to Harry, who's barely strong enough to smile anymore. Maybe he is and he just doesn't want to, Louis doesn't know anymore. 

"I was trying to keep him quiet," she tells him, eyes wide. "Did I do okay?"

Louis nods. "You did great, baby. Papa's in the kitchen if you want to say goodnight before you go back to sleep, okay?"

She nods back and makes a beeline for the door, and yeah. The children scramble to get time with Harry, even if it's just laying quietly next to him while he's napping. Isabelle is still too young to quite understand the meaning of death or forever, and Marion these days is sad and quiet, more than usual. Annie, his sweet girl, is doing exactly what Louis needs her to do: step up a bit in some areas, step back in others. She knows when it's time to leave Harry alone and when it's okay, she knows that Harry doesn't mean to be such an ass sometimes. She's going to be five in just a couple of more days and he's going to get her a fucking fish because she fucking deserves one, dammit. Annie deserves a fish and Marion deserves a better father and Isabelle just needs to stay in her little world of oblivion until Harry's dead. It won't be until then that she understands what was happening, until it's too late. And it's going to be Louis' job to pick up the pieces and he can't take it, he can't take it anymore, he can't --

And then Noah finally stops crying and everything is quiet again. He has no excuse to be in here throwing a pity party for himself so he sets Noah back into his crib and goes back downstairs where other painful things are begging for his attention. Annie's got one of her princess blankets in her hands and she's trying to wrap it around Harry, who appears asleep with his head still tucked into his arms. She's too short, too little, and Louis can't fucking do this anymore, fucking hell. 

There's a scary moment in which Louis thinks that he should just let Harry wither away and die. If that's what he really wants, Louis' thoughts scream, but no, no. He can't do that. He can take watching his daughter try to take care of his husband, but he can't take that. 

"How about I take him upstairs and then you cover him up?" Louis asks tiredly, already going to pick Harry up. He reeks of vomit and sweat and sadness. Annie seems to ignore it easily. She follows him upstairs with her Rapunzel blanket and wraps it around his shoulders when Louis tells her it's okay to. Harry stirs slightly, his face twisting to reveal the pain he's in, even in his sleep, before he grabs the blanket and nuzzles into it. Annie smiles wide at Louis, and Louis has plans to lay in bed and cry all night, but those are ruined when she crawls up in her footie pajamas and curls in between them. At least Louis has an excuse not to touch him now. 

Louis thinks long and hard that night, for hours on end. 

Harry’s hurting. He’s not acting like himself because he has cancer and depression literally eating away at who he is, and devouring his energy. Louis knows this. He knows that nothing Harry is going through is easy. Harry’s allowed to be a little selfish and a whole lot angry -- it’s even completely justified that he’s upset with Louis, it’s just -- the reason this is so hard for Louis is because this is the complete opposite how things went last time. 

Last time, Harry had hope. He was realistic to a scary degree last time, but he still had hope. He was still kind to Louis and everyone around him, and he tried his hardest to cling onto everyone he loved most. He was pretty much too good of a patient, Louis realizes.  _ This _ is what a cancer patient acts like, he’s pretty sure. And even if that is true, he wishes he could understand what changed from then to now. 

He tries to remind himself that Harry still loves him, and that he still loves Harry. So they have had a few rough months; so what? They still love each other. They still support each other, except for when they don’t. Except for when Louis pressures Harry into making decisions that Harry doesn’t want to make.

It’s nauseating to think about. Logically, he knows that Harry is allowed to be angry, so why does it still hurt so much? Logically, he knows that he should let Harry make his own decisions regarding his health, so why can’t he just let Harry have that? None of it makes sense, none of it all. He just hopes that it’ll work itself out before it finally breaks one of them in two.

-

Everyone gathers inside of the Tomlinson-Styles house once more for Annie's fifth birthday party, and despite the occasion, Louis' being chipped away with worry. Christmas was a disaster and so was their dinner party, so Lord only knows what's going to happen tonight. He tries to shove it down, tries to remind himself that his daughter is more important than anything else, but Harry's cuddled into Anne's side, eyes cloudy as he watches Jack (try) to play with Amelia. It hurts to watch the scene in front of him because it's so familiar, and yet it feels so wrong; Harry's beanie is pulled too far down and Anne looks too old and frail and Harry looks sick and sad and pained and fucking hell, he has to look away to catch his breath. 

Annie fucking screeches with joy when too many people crowd into the second living room to see the fish and it's shown to her for the first time. The fish is blue, purple almost, and there's another one that's a lighter pink swimming next to it. Louis hopes to God they don't kill each other. That'd be hard to explain. 

She's hesitant on naming them herself at first -- "I want Papa to name them" -- but they eventually persuade her into naming her own fish, thus bringing "Pinky" and "Princess" into the family. And, well. She's five. It works. 

It's around eight o'clock when everybody gathers together to watch Annie's movie choice:  _ Ariel _ . Which. . . is better than watching _ Rapunzel _ for the hundredth time, so, again, it works. Ariel's gone and got herself a pair of feet when Nick and Harry subtly leave the room. Nobody catches them except Louis, and fuck all if he isn't going to stick his nose where it doesn't belong. 

Harry and Louis talked a bit this morning about yesterday. Louis was too stubborn to admit how hurt he was about what Harry said yesterday initially, but eventually, he told him, and Harry apologized immediately.  _ Not what I meant, _ and all that. _ If anything, you’re bettering my last few months. I just meant, like. . . mentally, chemo does my head in, and it’s hell. And you’re the only reason why I’m doing it.  _

It felt like a step in the right direction. 

Nick's voice is heard first. ". . . will actually kill me, okay? He can't know about this. He can't." They're talking about Louis; Louis can barely catch the words from his spot on the stairs; their bedroom is the first door, but they're talking quietly. "And I'm going to say it again: I do not want you doing this. The other reason why I'm helping you is because you asked me to, and because you can’t really do it yourself, and that seemed unfair."

_ " _ It's already done, Nick. Dr. Cabot already signed it. It's over."

What are they talking about? What did Dr. Cabot do without consulting Louis first? She's their friend, both of theirs, she shouldn't have done anything without telling him about it.

_ " _ He's going to notice the bracelets," Nick says, and he sounds desperate. "Louis isn't stupid; he's going to know I helped you with this and I don't want him hating me again."

"I'm sorry." Harry's quiet. Guilty. Louis' gut is boiling with fear. What did Harry  _ do? _

"So this it, then? All you need is two tacky looking bracelets and a form and. . . that's it."

"That's it."

A loud sigh comes, and Louis can only guess it's from Nick. "What if you're dying and you regret it, Haz? And you can't say anything, can't do anything, can't -- "

"Nick." Harry must be crying, his voice is thick. "I'm not going to regret this."

And the curiosity gets the better of him when there's a long pause. Louis quietly tiptoes to their room, lightly presses the door open, and Harry's whimpering softly into Nick's neck as Nick holds him. They're sitting on their bed, Louis and Harry's bed. Both of their eyes are clenched tightly shut and they must be somewhere far away because they don't hear Louis, don't sense his presence. It's only when Louis sees the form on the side table and catches the title of it that he lets his presence be known.

"You got a fucking DNR?" He means to spit it, to show how angry he is, but it falls flat, weak. Pathetic. Heartbreaking. Not scary. Nick jolts in panic while Harry just. . . stares at him. He must've known Louis was here or else he'd be shouting at Louis to get out. But that's not important; his husband got a fucking DNR, a form that reads  _ "Do Not Resuscitate" _ in big, thick letters, and no. No. He wants to cry. He is crying, but it's not enough. He wants to scream and he wants to kick and he wants Harry to tell him what the fuck is going on. "Why would you do that?" Again, his voice trembles. 

"Control," Harry responds, sitting up. He fixes his beanie and keeps staring at Louis, unblinking. "I want some control back."

"Harry."

"And Dr. Cabot has a copy so you can't rip it up," Harry says as he stands. He moves past Louis to grab the form and set it in the drawer. "I have extra bracelets in case you try and get rid of them, and even if you did, they'll know not to perform CPR on me. And we aren't legally married, so there's no way you can even try to override it." Harry wraps his arms around his middle, shoulders hunched, eyes cast on the floor. "I know you're going to hate me for this, Lou. And I'm sorry. I really am. But if something happens, I want to have a say in it."

It's. . . no. No. "What exactly did you agree to?" He needs to know. He _ needs _ to know. 

Harry glances up at him. "No CPR, obviously. No intubation. No ventilators." 

Louis' stomach swoops dangerously, because, "A ventilator saved your life last time, what -- what are you doing?"

"I got a POLST, too. Just like. A form to say I want to die at home."

_ Stop it _ , he wants to say because he needs this all to stop, he need s-- god, all he wants to do is take care of Harry and all Harry wants to do is fucking die, it seems like, and it's frightening to be having this conversation on their daughter's birthday. But there's no conversation to be had, is there? Harry already decided. Harry didn't give Louis a say or a warning. It's done. And so is Louis. 

"I'm done," Louis murmurs, and it feels good to say out loud. So he says it again. "I'm done, Harry."

Nick closes his eyes. Harry looks wounded. "What do you mean?"

"I'm done. With it all." He glances around the room, mentally picking out things he needs to take with him. He doesn't know where he'll go, but he knows he should probably leave before he makes a scene. "If you don't call off these forms right now, I'm leaving. And I mean it."

"Lou," Harry whispers, panicked. He reaches for Louis' hand and Louis lets it happen, just for a moment, until Harry takes hold of his pinky finger because no. This isn't happening anymore. He can't do this anymore. So he pulls away, and Harry's whole face crumbles. "You promised you wouldn't leave me, you -- the car and five years ago. You promised me you wouldn't leave when my spleen ruptured and you promised you wouldn't leave me when I had pneumonia, you can't -- Louis, please. Don't do this."

"I don't want to leave you," and it’s the truth, he doesn't. "But it's clear you don't have a problem leaving me, so." And then he's grabbing his keys off their nightstand and a sweatshirt because it's cold outside and he slides on his shoes, and Harry cries out for him. Louis lets it fade to white noise. He's done. "I'll come back tomorrow," Louis says, facing the door. Facing away from Harry and Nick. "For the kids. I'm not leaving them. But I'm not taking care of you anymore."

"But I need you, I -- " Harry's crying hysterically, sobs wracking his frail fame. "Louis, Louis, please, Louis, don't do this, don't do this. It's her birthday, it's Annie's birthday, don't do this to them, don't, please, Louis, please. Stay, Louis, stay, please. Fucking, please. I need you."

"I need you, too!" Louis shouts, spinning around to look at Harry. Harry looks erratic, lip bitten almost raw and fingers biting his clothes. "You want to leave me, so -- "

"I don't want to die!  _ Trust me _ , I don't want to fucking die. But I could, Louis, and I want a fucking say in what happens to me, I want -- "

Louis raises his hand, shakes his head. "I don't give a fuck what you want anymore. You're going to keep doing chemo and you're going to ask someone else to take care of you because I'm done." His gaze slices into Nick. "Ask him. He sure as hell does whatever you want."

Nick stands now, and it's a dangerous move. It's insanely dangerous and it makes Louis want to lurch forward and punch him as hard as he possibly can, but then he starts talking and it's all calm and smooth and it helps Louis' head still for a minute. "Stay, Louis. For the kids. Stay in one of the guest bedrooms. Don't do this on Annie's birthday, okay? You'll never forgive yourself. Stay, and I'll stay, too. I'll take care of him. But if something happens, something serious, you know you're going to want to be right here."

And it's true. It's true, and Louis hates it a little, but it's true. He can't do this on Annie's birthday and he can't do that to himself because if Harry gets an infection and Nick freaks out and doesn't know what to do, Louis will need to be here to step up. Because he's not going to let Harry die. Fuck what a piece of paper says; Harry's not dying. "Fine," Louis breathes, nods. He tosses his keys onto the bed in surrender. He turns his attention to Harry, who's still sobbing uncontrollably, the hardest Louis' probably ever seen him cry. Louis lets it slide off him like it's nothing. "Pull yourself together and come back downstairs. It's your daughter's birthday."

-

He's awakened by booming, heart-wrenching cries. He panics at first, jolts up in fear, but then he sees Harry who obviously isn't dying and he relaxes slightly. The guest bedroom is illuminated by the lamp Louis never turned off before he went to sleep and Harry's wreck of state is shown in detail. His face is drenched in tears and sweat and pain, so much pain. Harry doesn't even say anything, just burrows his way into Louis' arms. Louis told himself he wouldn't let himself be guilted back into this, that he wasn't going to waver until Harry revoked the DNR and the POLST. But Harry sounds and looks so fucking broken, so devastated, Louis would be insane if he didn't wrap him up in his arms as tight as he could. 

"It hurts so bad, Louis, hurts so bad. Everything fucking hurts all of the time, you don't understand, you don't understand." Harry lets out a particularly hard sob, wetting Louis' collarbones with his tears. "It feels like everything inside of me is on fire, you don't get it. You don't understand. I wish you'd understand."

There's a creak of the floorboard and Louis glances up, tightens his hold on Harry in fear it's one of the kids, but it's not. It's Nick. A very tired looking Nick with worry etched into his face. Louis glances at the clock to see that it's four in the morning. Louis had declared that he’s practically giving up on Harry eight hours ago and went to bed two hours later. Exhaustion refused to let him wilt in his own thoughts for too long and he was out like a light, even without Harry by his side. It's obvious Nick and Harry didn't have the same luck. 

"He refuses to take his pain meds," Nick explains, voice low. "He's in so much fucking pain, Louis."

"Because he needs to take his medication," he says. "Obviously."

"He won't." Nick looks like he's about to explode with stress already. It's been eight hours. Louis wants to laugh. "He says he won't until you come to bed."

Which. . . no. It's not fair for Harry to do this to him, to put him in this position. It's not fair at all. So he releases his hold on Harry even when his body tries to protest, even when his arms feel stuck around him. Harry cries louder, must know Louis' not going to play this game. 

"Please, Louis, just let me stay here, let me be held by you, I need this all to stop, I need -- "

"Go to our room," Louis says quietly. He reaches over Harry to turn the light off and God, it hurts so much but you know what would hurt more? Sitting in a hospital room with his five children with Harry dead when he could've so easily been saved. That'd hurt more than this ever could. "I'm not doing this, Harry."

"I feel like I'm dying."

"Because you are."

"Don't do this to me."

"You're doing it to yourself."

And then Harry tries to intertwine their pinkies again, and Louis' had enough of this bullshit so he finagles his way out of the bed. He ignores Harry's wails and Nick's horrified look and he goes to the living room and flicks on the telly. He got enough sleep; he'll be fine for the day. 

-

It's not until seven o'clock in the morning, three hours later, that Harry caves and takes his pills. His fingers tremble profusely as he brings them to his mouth and once he's swallowed them, he lowers his forehead to the kitchen counter, probably in an attempt to dull a headache. He has Nick's hand wrapped in both of his tightly, keeps murmuring something about the pain, even when Nick's not listening. Nick keeps dropping little kisses onto his forehead as he talks to Tyler on the phone and their conversation becomes increasingly heated as the time ticks by. By the sound of it, Tyler wants Nick home. And by the look of guilt on Nick's phone, he wants to be home, too. Louis understands it. He understands it completely. But that doesn't mean Louis' going to succumb to it. 

Harry accidentally drops a pan while he shakily puts the dishes away, probably to distract himself, and Annie, Marion, and Isabelle sleepily walk into the kitchen shortly after. Annie's holding her sisters' hands, and Isabelle still looks half asleep. Louis quickly scoops them all up and convinces them to go back to sleep. He needs to figure out some stuff before he handles the kids. 

"Feed my fishies, please," Annie asks, eyes crumpled shut. Louis laughs and tells her of course before dropping a kiss to her head and doing as she asked. He spends an embarrassingly long time panicking he's going to over feed them before walking back to the living room. By the time he returns, Harry's outside on the phone. The window's open, and he thinks maybe Harry did it on purpose before he hears the conversation taking place. Harry usually tells him everything, but he's got a feeling he doesn't want Louis to hear him like this. 

". . . what to do. He's given up on me, Mum. He's all I have -- yes, I know I have the kids, yes, I know that, but he's the only person who's going to remember me for who I am if I die. . .Mum, stop. I know you'll be sad, I know you will. . . I know. . . Yeah. . . But he's my husband, he knows who I am and who I want to be more than anybody else. . . I know Gemma loves me. . . yes, I know, I know that. . . stop saying that, I know that. . . I know you love me, Mum, but I need someone to talk to right now and. . . yes, okay. . . Fine. I'll call Ben or something. . . Love you too. . . yes, I know. I love you too. . . Love you too. . . okay, I have to catch Ben before he -- yes, I know. I know. I know. Goodbye. . . Goodbye. . . Love you too. Goodbye."

And then Harry takes a few deep breaths before punching in Ben's number. It takes a few tries for him to answer, but he eventually does. 

"Hey. . . no, it's Harry. Why would Louis be calling you on my phone? . . . okay, yeah. Yeah. . . yes. . . Do you have a few minutes to talk? . . . Okay, well, I, um, I got a DNR and -- hey, stop it, don't fucking yell at me right now. . . I'll fucking hang up if you keep lecturing me. . . okay, good. Well, Lou found out and he's so mad at me. Like, I knew he'd be mad, but he feels like I betrayed him or something. Like I'm doing this to spite him. I just want it for  _ me _ , you know? I'll do the chemo for him, I'll keep fighting, for him, but I need this for me. . . yeah. Thank you. . . I don't know.

"I just keep thinking about, like, being in a coma, you know? Brain dead or something," Harry continues, voice thick. "He won't be able to pull the plug if it comes down to it. He'll keep me alive for years and years and years and I don't want that. The kids, god, it'd be torturous on our children. And on him. I gave myself two months to wake up on my own, and then if it passes that, the doctors will take me off life support."

Harry didn't tell him that. But somehow he's almost okay with that. He understands that bit. 

"He thinks I want to die. . . Oh,  _ fuck  _ you, I don't want to die. . . I don't, stop -- . . . don't tell me how I feel, Ben. . . It's just like, I don't know. The pain was worse when I was refusing treatment than it is now, but at least I knew then that it'd be over soon. I knew that. It comforted me. Now, I'm living in fear of if's. What if today's my last day? What if I only have a month left? What if I don't die at all and I've prepared myself for nothing? I don't know, Ben. It's too much to take, and now he's not talking to me and I. . . I cried in his arms this morning, was absolutely crawling out of my skin, and he rejected me. He's so selfish, and I -- I get it, yeah? But he wants me to live for him and not for myself. He doesn't care what I want, what's better for me. He only cares about what's better for him."

That's when Louis goes upstairs to their bedroom, out of habit, and sits on the bed. He wasn't supposed to hear that, any of it. So he's going to pretend he didn't hear a word of it. It's easier that way.

-

Anne moves in with them a few days later. It's not permanent, will only last as long as Harry's leukemia does, but it's helpful nonetheless. Louis doesn't feel like his brain is frying all of the time anymore; partly because he isn't the only one watching over the children and partly because he doesn't have to take care of Harry anymore. Obviously,  _ obviously _ , Louis helps out still. He reminds Harry to take his meds, holds him when he's feeling sick, and helps him with his showers if he's too tired. It's just. . . different, now. Louis isn't breaking his hands with efforts to help Harry and Harry isn't relying on him for every little thing. 

It's only a matter of time before Harry breaks, Louis can see it. Especially as of late, he's getting clingier and asks more of Louis. Louis told him that Harry can keep his stupid DNR and his POLST if he revokes his refusal on intubation and a ventilator, and that as soon as he does, Louis will go back to taking care of him, coddling him every second of every day. It's cruel and it's terrible and Louis hates himself for not being selfless enough, but too fucking bad. Too bad. Marion told Louis last night that she's really happy Harry hasn't left them yet, and Louis plans on keeping it that way. 

As this round of chemo nears, Harry becomes quieter. He doesn't contribute to dinner conversations and stops making efforts to play with the kids. Louis heard Harry on the phone with someone last night, probably Nick, and he was crying about not wanting to go through it all over again. Louis stayed in their bed (because he felt like a monster for rejecting Harry when he was in need of a good cuddle) and ignored his cries until he crawled back into bed and curled up behind Louis, his forehead pressed to Louis' shoulders blade. "Please don't make me do it again," he kept whispering, and Louis kept on ignoring him.

This morning, Harry refuses to eat breakfast and Louis doesn't push him like he used to. He just sighs and dumps his food in the trash before sitting back down at the table, and it feels good, almost. It feels good to finally stop drowning in all of the stress Harry's sickness puts him through. 

Harry's right: Louis' terribly selfish. But he doesn't have the energy to change. 

Isabelle decides she wants to go for a walk, and the sun's out so Harry agrees. Anne stays home with Noah and Jack while Louis and Harry both keep a close on Isabelle, Marion, and Annie who are all singing loudly. The sun's too rough on Louis' skin, but Harry looks insanely content. Euphoric, almost. He's got his beanie off and everything, lets the sun try to heal his wounds. 

"Will you be there with me tomorrow?" Harry whispers as he tightens his hold on Louis' hand, like he's begging. "For my chemo," he clarifies when Louis doesn't respond right away.

"I've not missed a session before. I'm not going to start now."

Harry nods, looking relieved. "I still don't know where we stand anymore," he says after a moment. "Like, you said you were done, but you still kiss me and hold my hand and say you love me. Are you just. . ." He glances down at the cement. "I just don't understand."

"I still love you." Louis smiles softly at him, knocks their shoulders together. "I'm not done loving you. I'll never be done loving you. It's just. . . I'm not killing myself to take care of someone who doesn't want to be taken care of."

Harry scoffs. "So you've given up on me?"

Louis sharpens his gaze. "You've given up on yourself."

-

The next round of chemotherapy is uneventful. It consists of Harry shivering, scared, and sad in a chair as he gets pumped with poison, Louis sitting next to him with guilt flooding his veins, and Harry being very, very quiet as the week trudges on. On the fourth day, Dr. Cabot (who Louis refuses to look in the eye, because how  _ dare  _ she) tells them Harry's outcome looks promising. And Louis cries tears of joy while Harry just nods, and Louis' too happy to be angry with him. 

He throws up the normal amount and, for once, Louis just lets Anne take care of it and the only problem is that it doesn't feel good. He feels terrible. Extremely terrible. It's his job to take care of Harry. And he's failing, but he refuses to help someone who doesn't want to help himself.

It's been three days since Harry finished this round of chemo, and now that the chemo is officially out of his system, he's happier again. He starts kissing Louis again and letting him hold him again, and so Louis starts to feel a little less useless. 

"I'm tired," Harry mumbles against Louis' shoulder, his arms around his waist from behind. 

Louis leans into him. "Get some more sleep then. The kids are still in bed, it's okay." It's ten o'clock and they really should be awake, but it's a Sunday and Louis doesn't want to disturb them. Harry and Louis are jumbled up on the same chair outside while Louis reads a book on grieving and Harry stares at the sky. 

"We haven't had sex in a while," is Harry's response, earning a small laugh out of Louis. 

"No, we haven't."

"Mum's at the grocery store," Harry reminds him, and already there's little kisses being pressed into his neck. "We can be quick. I'm not being caught having sex by my mother like a teenager."

So Louis guides them upstairs and clothes come off and both their hearts race. Harry tells him that he wants Louis to ride him and Louis' momentarily reminded that Harry's still sick and too tired to do any of the work, but he lets himself forget it. And he can, like this. He can forget about the cancer and the chemo and the DNR when Harry's licking at his collarbones like they're candy. It's only when Louis has three of his own fingers stuffed in his hole that he realizes Harry's acting a bit frantic, kissing him maybe a bit too hard. He brushes it off as passion, which is dumb and cheesy and naive, because it's not the case at all. The problem isn't passion or a lack of it, it's just. . . Harry can't get hard, can't get it up, and it's okay. Louis' not mad or disappointed for even a second, but Harry's incredibly humiliated and it doesn't matter how many times Louis tells him that it's okay, that he's done nothing wrong, because he's practically running out of the bedroom after tugging on his clothes and Louis' left by himself. 

He gives Harry a few minutes to himself before wandering downstairs only to find out that Harry's taken the car keys and left, which. . . okay. Harry's allowed to leave, obviously. Louis doesn't feel exactly comfortable with him driving, especially when he was already so tired, but Harry texted him three minutes ago to ease his tension.  _ I'll be back before lunch x  _ is all it reads, and again. Okay. That's. . . fine. He's going to be left alone to explain to Anne what happened, but so long as Harry doesn't go and get himself another DNR or something, it'll be fine.

As he sets the table for lunch and Harry's still not home, he wonders if he jinxed if. If by thinking that the worse possibility of Harry being gone is getting another DNR, and not getting into a car crash or never coming home again. He's not blind; even Louis hates who he becomes when Harry has cancer, how he thinks. He's selfish, he's so selfish, and as he helps Jack eat his lunch, he can feel his lungs constrict as he keeps accidentally holding his breath. Anne's doing it, too. 

It's 1:36 in the afternoon when Harry finally comes home. Louis' first instinct is to rush over to him and ask him if he's okay, but then he feels inexplicably angry and stays in his spot at the kitchen counter. Harry should've called him to let him know that he'd be home almost two hours later than he said he would, because Louis' been picturing car crashes and heart attacks and all sorts of other things that could've been prevented if Harry just called him. But he doesn't yell, doesn't do or say anything. He needs to try to understand Harry more, needs to realize that Harry's hurting and tired and that his body is collapsing in on itself. For the sake of their marriage and for both of their sanity, Louis needs to try. 

Harry nods at Anne shortly before dropping the car keys onto the table and shutting the door. They both watch his hands shake as he takes off his shoes and his coat, both see the way he looks so. . . sad. Tears and all. His eyes look vacant but pained, and shit, yeah, Harry wasn't here to take his pain meds. So Louis busies himself with grabbing the pills and a glass of water as Harry practically limps over to where Louis was sitting previously. 

"Here," Louis murmurs quietly as he sets the glass of water in front of Harry. He grabs his hand and places the pills in the center of his palm, and Harry just nods as he shakily takes the pill and chases it down with the water. There's this quiet atmosphere around Harry -- the same one from a while ago, the same one that always seems to be around Harry when he's having a rough day in the mental department -- and Louis' so afraid to break it, to break him, so he cautiously sits down next to him. 

Anne clears her throat. "The kids are watching a movie up in your room. Do you want me to tell them you're home? They missed you at lunch."

Harry closes his eyes and he presses his fingers to his temples. He shakes his head, says he needs a minute to himself. Both Anne and Louis think that excludes both of them, so they head towards the direction of the stairs. 

"Wait, Lou," Harry calls, and Louis turns around slowly. Anne pats his shoulder before walking up the stairs, leaving him on his own. It's not like he doesn't want to talk to Harry; he does. But Harry's sad and Louis' terrified of him like this. It's in Louis' nature to be loud and blunt, and he can't be that way with him right now. Harry needs soft and quiet and supportive Louis, which he can do, he can, it's just a bit hard when he feels like Harry's purposely hurting him and their children. 

"We have to talk," Harry says once Louis sits back down at the counter. 

Immediately, Louis assumes that this is about what happened earlier. Or, well, what didn't happen earlier. He reaches over to brush his fingers over Harry's jawline, smiles gently. "I'm not mad, or anything. There's no need to feel, like, ashamed or something. It happens. It's okay."

He frowns. "It's barely ever happened to me before. Not when I’m sober." 

Louis' about to say something along the lines of 'it happens to all of us', but he stops himself when he realizes that Harry's right. Harry's never really had a problem with getting hard before. The leukemia makes Louis nervous about hurting him, and Harry's sex drive is shot nowadays, but he's rarely ever not been able to get hard when he wants to, cancer and chemo and all. So maybe Louis should've realized sooner that Harry was probably more scared than humiliated earlier.

But it's not like Louis to let Harry wallow in self-pity or fear, so he finds Harry's hand and gives it a squeeze. "It could be your meds. You're on loads, and there's always a possibility of erectile dysfunction with pretty much anything."

"You aren't a fucking doctor, Louis," Harry snaps, exasperated. "You're my husband, and my husband doesn't use phrases like 'erectile dysfunction'."

Louis frowns. "You know what I mean."

For once, Harry lets it go and continues without either of them trying to jump down each other's throats for a tiny mistake. "I've been on the same meds for the last three months, and I've never had a problem before."

"Things can change."

"Yeah, they can. I know that." Harry sighs quietly before taking another short sip of his water. He doesn't look back at Louis as he says, "It could be from the chemo."

Probably not, actually. It's all out of his system by now, that shouldn't be a factor. But Louis can't know for sure, so he runs his finger over Harry's knuckles. "Could be."

Harry's looking at him again, a glare so intense that it almost makes Louis flinch. "You'd let it drive me into the ground if it meant getting even one more day with me."

"I'm not going to apologize for wanting you here with us," he snaps, almost yanking his hand away from Harry's. "The kids want all the time they get with you, and chemo's bought you a lot more than one day."

"I don't understand why you don't let me have a say in this." 

"It's your fucking body, Harry. You get the last say in it, so don't act like you don't." Louis takes a deep breath in an attempt to calm down a little, but it doesn't do anything but waste a few seconds. "I took care of you when you were fucking killing yourself, didn't I? I want you here for as long as I can have you, but if you go and start refusing treatment again, it's not like I can force it down your throat."

Harry's quietly looking at the table, so Louis takes it as an okay to continue. 

"You're in pain, I know that. It feels like your bones are made of glass, I know that. But what I don't know is why you don't understand that the pain we, the six of us, would feel if you died would be far worse than anything you could possibly be feeling right now."

"My fucking body is deteriorating, Louis. I'm in constant pain. Why do you -- " his voice catches and he bites his lip before starting again. "Why do you try and use our children to make me feel guilty for hurting? How can you do that to me?"

That's not what he's fucking doing. That's -- all Louis wants is for Harry to understand how hard it will be on all of them if he died, because obviously Harry doesn't fucking get it. "You shouldn't feel guilty for being in pain. Obviously. And I'm not trying to make you feel that way."

That's when Harry starts crying, or maybe it's when Louis first notices, but either way, there are tears rushing down his cheeks. And Louis wants to wipe them away, although he knows for certain Harry would push his hand away. "I don't want to talk about this anymore," Harry whispers with a shake of his head. "I think it'd be best if we just stopped talking about any of this all together, because it's clear you don't fucking care what's best for me. I want to fucking die, Louis, and you know that, and all you do with the knowledge is throw it in my face and make me feel bad about it."

Louis feels his stomach drop, feels his heart almost give. "Don't say that, don't -- "

"There you fucking go again," Harry nearly shouts. He stands then, uses his height to his advantage as he towers over Louis. "Making this about you. Making this about how  _ you're  _ hurting."

"I'm sorry," because he is, he is. He doesn't mean to make Harry feel invalidated in any way, not ever. "Talk to me about it. Please. I'll listen. You know I'll always listen."

They can't keep running away from this conversation, they can't. Someone needs to understand something new, or come to a new sort of respect, because they keep coming back to this argument and it seems so stupid. The first time, they barely argued, but this time. . . it's like they haven't stopped. It's beginning to drive Louis mad. 

Harry looks hesitant, like he'd much rather run away from this than talk about it, so Louis grabs his hand again. He motions for Harry to sit again, which he slowly does, and then it's quiet. He can't force Harry to speak, doesn't know the right things to ask about this. Thankfully, Harry starts. 

"I don't want to die," Harry murmurs. "It's not, like, I'm suicidal or something. I'm happy with living, obviously." He closes his eyes, sighing gently. "It's just. . . I haven't been happy in months.  _ You  _ haven't been happy in months, the kids -- it'd just be better for everybody if I just died, Louis. Right now."

"That's not true, I don't under -- "

"It took seven months last time," Harry snaps, opening his eyes to glare at Louis. It softens slightly after a second, and Louis wonders if he looks as sad as he feels and that's why Harry decided to take it easy on him. "It took seven months last time," he repeats. "And they want me to do ten rounds this time, that -- god, Louis. Ten fucking months of chemo. We're only on the third one, and everything seems wrong already. Annie tries so hard to make me feel better and she doesn't understand that nothing will help, and poor Izzy has no idea what's going on, and she's confused, Louis. She's not old enough to deal with this. She shouldn't have to deal with this at all, but I'm going to force her to deal with it for seven more months? That's. . . I don't want to drag this out for their sake."

"They want twelve rounds," is the only thing Louis can think to say. "Cabot said twelve rounds."

"Great," Harry murmurs. He knocks his knee against Louis' with a small smile on his lips. "Memory's going too, I guess."

And it's a joke, and Louis knows it's a joke, but a spike of worry hits his chest anyways. He can't find it in him to laugh, even though it's good to joke about these things (according to some stupid website who thinks they know better than him) so he smiles tightly and presses a kiss to Harry's temple. It's enough talking today for both of them. 

\- - -

The next morning, Louis is searching the internet for whatever else there is to learn about leukemia. It's stupid; he's pretty sure he knows literally everything there is to know, but it makes him feel helpful and there's not much else to do. The kids went out shopping with Anne (all five of them, and Louis told her multiple times she's going to regret taking all of them, but she was insistent) and Harry's taking a shower. He's been in there for almost a half hour now, and even though Louis checked in to make sure he was okay not even five minutes ago, his skin is still itching with worry. 

Not even thirty seconds later, Harry's calling for Louis from the shower, and Louis nearly kills himself on accident as he scrambles out of bed. Harry could've fell, he could've -- what if he has a fever, god, Louis didn't check his temperature this morning, what if --

His thoughts are instantly quieted when he sees Harry lazily stroking his very evidently hard cock, and fuck, his hand is moving behind him. A spike of arousal hits Louis' chest at the same time a bite of anger does. 

"You gave me a heart attack," Louis tries to say sternly, but it falls flat when Harry lets out a quiet moan.

"Sorry," he breathes, "just. . . come on, come fuck me."

"In the shower?"

Harry just nods. 

"I don't want you to -- "

"Not gonna slip," Harry protests weakly. He groans again, louder. "You're not going to let me slip, okay? So come fuck me."

And Louis can't say no to that face, so he quickly strips off his clothes and joins Harry in the shower. The water's gone cold by now, but before he can bitch about it, Harry's turning so his backside is facing him. Harry's pumping three fingers in and out of himself, whining and whimpering quietly as he does so. 

"'m ready," he murmurs after a few seconds. Louis nods, catches Harry's wrist and carefully coaxes his fingers out before replacing it with three of his own in. Harry grunts around a laugh. "Said I was ready."

"Just making sure, darling." 

But he is, he is ready, and he's hard, and Louis should've realized that this is what Harry was getting up to. None of that matters though, because Harry starts grumbling at him to go faster, and then he's pressing into Harry and fuck, it's been too long. It's been way too long, so of course they both finish way too quickly. Louis wants to go for another round, almost _ needs _ to, but Harry's obviously exhausted. Again, Louis' not disappointed even for a second. He cleans them both off quickly, gasping a bit at how cold the water is, and Harry's practically asleep in his arms by the time he's finished drying them off. He can't convince Harry to stay awake a little longer to put on clothes ("You're going to scar the kids, Haz") and then they're both sound asleep in bed for the second time that morning. Harry's nose pressed against Louis' rib cage, soft snores filling the room and lulling Louis right to sleep. 

It's the last happy moment they have together for a while. 

\- 

Four days later, everything falls apart. 

Louis is downstairs with Anne and Marion; Louis' washing the dishes, Marion's drying them (kind of) and Anne's putting them away. It's one of those wholesome family moments that makes his heart burst with joy, and it'd be better if Harry and the rest of the kids were here as well, but Harry's upstairs in their room sleeping. He went to sleep at ten o'clock, a bit late for him nowadays, so Louis lets it slide that it's almost eleven in the morning because it's crucial for Harry to get his sleep. He pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead before setting up a movie for Annie and Isabelle who were hell-bent on staying with him. According to Annie, she's owed a Harry Day. Isabelle just blindly agreed. 

With Noah making small little baby noises from the blanket on the floor a few feet away, they finish up the dishes. Around that time it's near eleven thirty, and so lunch needs to be made. Anne offers, but she made breakfast this morning, so Louis does it himself. He gets distracted easily, so it's eleven forty eight when he finishes creating enough grilled cheese sandwiches for everyone. 

"H's is probably going to want to shower before lunch," Anne tells him, and Louis nods. He makes his way up the stairs after tickling Marion's sides, and before he even opens the door to their room, the booming noises of  _ Finding Dory _ flood the hallway. Louis groans quietly. He told Annie not to turn it up too high so they won't wake Harry. 

He opens the door, still unnoticed by the kids, and watches with a furrowed brow as Annie re-positions a towel over Harry's forehead. Isabelle reaches out to help her with whatever she's doing, but Annie stops her. 

"Stop it, Izzy. That's not how Daddy does it."

Still confused, Louis quickly locates the remote and turns down the volume. Both girls jump at the sight of him, eyes wide, and Louis knows something's wrong. It's his Dad Senses that tingle, not anything else, so he quirks an eyebrow at them. "What've you girls been doing, hmm?"

Neither of them answer. 

Louis laughs a bit, walking towards the bed. He kisses their foreheads as a hello and crouches down beside their bed next to Harry, who still is somehow sleeping. 

"Papa's sleeping," Isabelle murmurs. 

Annie nods. "You shouldn't wake him up, Daddy."

Again, Louis lets out a small chuckle. "Papa needs to wake up and eat his lunch, just like you two do." He leans forward and brushes his fingers down Harry's back, quietly so he doesn't disturb Jack, who's sleeping in Harry's arms. He notices instantly that sweat has bled through Harry's t-shirt, and on instinct, he reaches up to feel Harry's forehead. Louis does it almost distractedly, barely worried, because this hasn't happened before, but as he fingers his way around Annie's damp towel, his fingers find hot, sweaty skin. 

"Hey, hey," Louis tries, chest tightening. He shakes Harry gently when he doesn't wake up, and Jack comes to but Harry shows no sign of alertness. "Babe," he tries again, and finally, Harry's eyes twitch open. As if his body was waiting for him to wake up, Harry groans quietly after clenching his eyes shut again, and fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. "Haz, love, how do you feel?"

"Hurts," is all he says. 

"Go get Grandma," Louis instructs the kids sternly, barely taking his eyes off of Harry long enough to look at Annie. "Take Jack, and go get Grandma." 

"I was trying to help," Annie says weakly. "I got a towel."

Louis clenches his jaw. "You should've came and got me, Annie. You know how serious this is, you know -- " but then Harry is groaning again and Louis focuses his attention back on the actual problem at hand. Harry's arm tighten around Jack as Louis tries to grab him, and maybe he doesn't know what's going on. Maybe he's delirious or something, but they need to get to the hospital and Louis' not doing this right now. He pries Harry's fingers off of Jack's small shirt, ignoring Harry's small pleas and whimpers, and passes him off to Annie. Briefly, he recognizes the look of guilt and sadness on Annie's face, but again, he can't worry about that right now. 

Harry reaches for him and Louis immediately takes his hand. "You need to call Cabot."

"We need to get you to a hospital, darling. Come on, up, up. Try and work with me here." But Harry isn't helpful at all, can barely close his around Louis' shoulder to hold himself. It's okay, Louis' used to supporting Harry's weight; what he's not used to, though, is the sweaty forehead that's pressed against his neck. God, this shouldn't be fucking happening. 

"Call Cabot," Harry mumbles again. Louis sighs and nods. Of course he'll eventually call Harry's doctor that something's wrong with her patient. "You need to call her now, Lou, need to. . ." but he trails off as they begin their journey down the stairs, and Louis can hear Annie crying as they get to the bottom step. 

She should've fucking got him, Christ. 

"Louis," Anne gasps, rushes forward. And Louis knows how terrible of a person he's being as he practically begs Anne to watch the kids, to let him be the one to take Harry in. "He's my son, Louis, I -- "

"Want Lou," Harry says, and well. Louis can be at fault for the way Anne's face drops. 

They quickly get into the car after Anne passes him Harry's medical folder, and he nearly drops it once he remembers what's in there, what's on the very top of the stack: Harry's DNR. If he was a better man, he wouldn't have to force himself to put in down in fear he'd actually go through with his urge to rip the documents to shreds right then and there. He starts the car after shooting Harry one last worried look. He's holding himself, sweaty and shaking and groaning. 

"Call Cabot," Harry repeats, and already, his voice is getting weaker. 

Louis' hands tighten around the steering wheel as he pulls out of their driveway, probably way too fast. "I will, love. Stop worrying, okay? Can you do that for -- "

The forms, I -- " and then Harry's coughing roughly, cutting himself off. It's not pneumonia coughs -- Louis will never, ever scrape the sound of those out of his head -- but they sound deep and rough, fuck. 

He forces himself to remain calm. "What?" he asks once Harry's done. 

Harry whimpers quietly, the noise grabbing at Louis' heartstrings. "She needed to," a small quiet, "sign some stuff."

"I don't want to be talking about your f DNR right now, Haz, please -- "

"Got stuff changed, Lou, I -- " and Louis nearly slams on his breaks when Harry whimpers out, "Did what you asked."

Thank fuck, thank  _ fuck _ . "Thank you, I -- "

"I don't have the forms, Louis, they aren't updated in the folder." Harry reaches over the center and grabs his forearm with a shaking hand. At first, Louis thinks he wants his attention but when as Harry's blunt nails gnaw at Louis' skin, he realizes he's just scared. "Call Cabot. They won't take your word for it, you need to call her, Lou."

"Stop talking," Louis says. “I’ll take care of it, okay, love?” He takes his eyes off the road for a second to briefly squeeze Harry's hand and to fish out his phone from his pocket. He types in her number quickly, knows it by heart, and she answers on the first ring, thank fucking god. He explains the situation quickly, and she sounds just as urgent as he does when she tells him to keep her on the phone. He does, but he keeps whispering quiet words of encouragement to Harry, who barely looks like he's hanging on by the time they pull off to the hospital. His fever must be absolutely brutal.

He has to practically drag Harry, and once they get inside the ER, Louis doesn't wait for someone to help them this time, he takes the initiative. "He has leukemia," Louis says to the first person he sees in scrubs, "second time around, I think he has an infection. Here's his medical folder, but his doctor -- "

"We got it from here, thank you," she tries to say, but no. 

"Let me fucking finish, will you?" Harry groans quietly, easing and strengthening Louis' nerves all at once. "He has a DNR but he filed paperwork to get it revoked; those forms are with his doctor right now, Dr. Marion Cabot, and she's on the phone," and then before he can finish, the lady is plucking the phone from his right hand and the folder from his left. Doctors swoop in to take Harry away, and just like that, Louis' all alone.

-

He needs to call Anne. 

That's all he can think about as he sits in yet another stupid plastic chair as he waits to hear something. But then he reminds himself that no news is good news, and then he's back to thinking that he needs to call Anne. The doctors never gave him his phone back, and she needs to know. She needs to know that Harry has an infection, as he predicted, and that it's not looking particularly good. The doctor who had informed him what was happening was in a rush to get back, and had very quickly told him that Harry's heart rate is way too high and his fever will not go down. It's all he can think about, calling Anne, and it helps make everything else feel less scary. 

When Dr. Cabot comes walking in the waiting room with two coffees in hand and in her pajamas, it's a little harder to focus on Anne because Marion is a doctor, she's Harry's doctor, and Harry's sick. 

"How is he?" Louis asks tiredly. It's been an hour since he's heard anything new. She passes him his coffee which burns his hands, and he takes a sip. 

"Not good, Louis."

Louis nods. He figured as much. "How bad?"

She wraps an arm around the top of his shoulders and sighs quietly. "They think his body's been fighting this for a while, and while he was sleeping, that's when it worsened. We didn't catch it early enough,. If we had caught it sooner, it wouldn't have been a problem."

He should've noticed, is what she's trying to say, and Louis knows that. Does she really not think he knows that? And Annie should've told him, she should've came and got him. She knew he was sick, or at least that something was wrong, and they've told all the bigger kids to come get Louis if they think anything's wrong. He wants to scream at her, but he more so wants to hold her because she's not who he's mad at. He's mad at himself. 

Dr. Cabot continues. "He went into shock."

Louis closes his eyes, his heart dropping through his stomach. 

"Septic, again. The infection traveled to his bloodstream quickly, and they couldn't get it under control fast enough. He --" she pauses, probably trying to choose her words carefully. "His heart stopped working properly for a few minutes. It's okay now, although his pulse is erratic, so it could still be a problem."

He doesn't want to process all of this right now, can't, so he quickly pushes it to the back of his brain and moves on. He needs to be strong right now, for Harry and for his children and for Anne. Anne. "Can I use your phone?"

-

Nick and Tyler go to the Tomlinson-Styles house to watch the kids while Anne rushes to the hospital, and by the time she gets here, there's been two scares and four doctors rushing to Harry's room. Dr. Cabot starts to tell Louis what happened, and he quickly cuts her off after  _ he tried to buck the ventilator,  _ but he overheard her tell Anne that it was good, that he was coherent enough to recognize something foreign was in his throat. All Louis hears is that Harry can't breathe by himself and he's trying to remove the thing that's keeping him alive. Despite everything, though, Dr. Cabot tells Louis that, as long as things don't get worse, Harry should make it through this if he fights hard enough.

It's six o'clock now, and Anne had brought Louis a few things. He's already texted Nick from her phone to explain the situation -- Harry's very sick and his body is exhausted, so it'll probably be days until he's fully conscious -- and tells him he'll be home tonight when visiting hours are over. He hates it, but Anne is spending the night here to be with her son, and Louis needs to be with his children, too. They're terrified. They don't understand anything, can't grasp any of it, and all they know is Papa is sick and this might be the day he goes away for forever. 

For now, though, and for the next two hours, he sits by Harry's hospital bed with Anne and just watches him. He sees all the tubes and the pale flesh, all the sweat and machines, but he's not looking at any of that, he's looking at Harry. A healthy version of Harry that he can somehow conjure up in the midst of everything. 

He wants to grab his hand, but he's too scared. It's so dumb, is the thing, but Louis can't. He refuses to have maybe the last time he holds Harry's hand a time where Harry can't even feel it, so he just suffers in the want to hold his hand and the can't of it, too. It's all so fucked, and Anne is mad at him for some reason -- he can see it the way she doesn't look at him, hear in the way she doesn't speak to him -- and he doesn't know why. He doesn't understand, and he's pretty sure he never will until five minutes before visiting hours are over and she finally looks at him. 

"He asked me to take care of him, to be the one who wipes the vomit off his mouth and to rub his back when he's sore, and the only time I could actually do something for him, really do something for him, you jump in and take the reins."

Louis rubs a tired hand down his face. "I'm his husband. His caregiver. I know about all this stuff." He glances at Anne tiredly. "I said that I was done taking care of him, but I didn’t really ever stop. You did all of the easy stuff, Anne, and it obviously was a big help, but I'm the one who's supposed to take care of situations like these."

"I'm not cross with you," she says incredulously. When she reaches over and grabs his hand, his whole body jolts and he tries to pull away. She doesn't let him go. "You did the right thing. I just wish he needed me like he used to."

He tries to smile, he really does, but it barely shows. "You took care of him for sixteen years. He needed you more than he needed anybody else for over half his life. He was raised by you, shaped by you, taught right from wrong by you. You've impacted his life more than I ever will."

She actually smiles, and it sends another wave of pain through his body. Still holding his hand, she shifts her gaze to Harry. "Last time this happened, I was so sure he was going to make it through. Now, though. . . I don't know." She reaches out to smooth the sheets on his bed. "He doesn't have the same strength any more. The same hope, the same desire to live. I wonder if that's what kept him alive last time."

God, he's going to cry so hard when he gets home. Now, he just nods. He finally relaxes his palm in Anne's hand and sighs quietly. "I won't be mad at him if he decides to go," he whispers. "He's in a lot of pain all of the time, and -- he already feels like he's lost so much, you know? He doesn't think he's a good father or a good husband anymore. I want him to die with feeling like he has some dignity, for his sake."

And it's the same thing Harry's been begging him to understand for so long, that Louis refused to digest, but now,  _ now _ , when it doesn't fucking matter, when Harry doesn't need the consoling or comfort,  _ now _ he understands. Now he fucking gets it, and he's such a fucking idiot. The kids are going to have to see him like this, because there's no way Louis can let him go without them getting a goodbye, and this is exactly what Harry wanted to avoid, exactly what he didn't want to put them through. 

He's almost grateful when a nurse comes in the room and tells them that visiting hours are over.

-

It feels wrong, leaving the hospital without Harry by his side. Louis can handle going in and out of facilities with ugly white walls and clean smelling air, but only because Harry's there with him, and now. Now Harry's not. Now, as Louis walks closer and closer to his car and further and further away from the hospital, he's leaving a very broken Harry in a hospital bed alone. Well, not alone; Anne's still there. But what if Harry wakes up and Louis isn't there, like last time? 

He can't shake the idea that he's betraying Harry, or something. Not when he gets in the car and cries, not when he cries the whole way home, and not when his eyes are burning dry in his skull when he gets home. When he stands in the doorway and no kids come to greet him, his legs wobble and then so does his lip, and he's almost convinced himself that it'd be okay to break down in tears again when Nick appears in the kitchen. 

"Oh," Nick says quietly. He looks tired as he sets down his cup of tea against the table. Louis just stands there. "How is he?"

"Sleeping," Louis says flatly. He takes off his shoes and socks and drops the car keys on the side table before pushing himself further into the kitchen. It feels unlived in and cold. He hates it. He also hates the way Nick is staring at him, waiting for more of an explanation. "They're monitoring him closely. It could go either way at this point." He runs his hands through his hair, pulling loosely at the ends. "I'll tell you about it later. Where are the kids?"

"Outside with Tyler. We thought they'd want to play out there, but. . . "

But they were too scared. But they weren't in the mood. But they're so, so confused. 

When Louis doesn't respond, Nick sighs quietly. "You should go talk to them, Louis."

Yeah, he probably should. He probably should tell Annie that it's not her fault, that she couldn’t have known. She should've known, though. Louis has told them how important it is to tell him if anything seems wrong countless times. And now Harry could very well die when he could've walked out of the hospital with some antibiotics in his hand, fine, if Annie had just come and got him. Harry probably was burning to death with a fever for hours, and Annie  _ knew _ . She should've got him, she should've --

"Louis," Nick says again, "go talk to them."

Instead, Louis sits at the stool across from Nick. "What am I supposed to say, Nick?" he asks after a few seconds of Nick staring at him. "He's not okay. He might not be okay. Harry could very well die, and I can't lie to them and say he's okay. I lied to Annie once about that and she was pissed at me for a while. I'm not going to do it again."

"No one's asking you to lie. Tell them the truth. Tell them he's not doing well but he's fighting for them."

Louis laughs, a little hysterical. "Is he?" he asks, throwing his hands up lightly. "I don't know if he is. He doesn't want to keep fighting, Nick, and if he has a choice in whether he lives or dies right now, he's going to -- "

"Don't talk shit about him right now," Nick hisses, cutting him off. "Come off it and go speak to your fucking children, because you are the only father they have right now."

When did Nick become so smart? He's right, about everything, and yet Louis just sits. He doesn't even think, just sits, allowing the day's events to soak into his skin but not his brain. He's tired of thinking about Harry being sick, so he's not going to. Louis can't anymore, he can't do this; he thought the worst part was over, but here they are. 

"Louis -- "

"He could've fucking died, Nick," Louis snaps, fists curling in anger. His fingernails knead the flesh of his palm. "He's having heart problems -- have you ever stopped to think about bad that is?"

Nick's eyes soften slightly. "I know how bad this all is, Louis. But I also know how much worse it can get, and you need to be there for -- "

"Jesus fucking Christ, don't tell me how to be a father," Louis snaps, before sliding a hand down his face. He's so tired, and not just physically. Taking care of Harry has truly beaten him down, again; this time around, he has to practically try and read Harry's mind half the time, and the other half he's trying to convince Harry's body to stop caving in on itself. And of course he has to be there for his kids too, all five of them. He hasn't been doing a very good job with them as of late, but he has to take care of them and love them and comfort them constantly. Who's there for Louis? Harry tries to be, of course he does, but Harry is constantly so sad and so hurt that Louis refuses to burden him with any of his own problems.

So, in a moment of weakness, Nick Grimshaw is there for Louis, and he doesn't have much of a choice in it. When Louis plants his elbows on the table, puts his head in hands and cries, Nick has no other choice but to round the table and half-hug, half-hold him. Louis doesn't do anything embarrassing like clutch onto him, but he lets himself be held and shushed and his hair pet. They stay like that -- Nick hunched into his side, consoling him gently -- until the back door opening is heard. 

Louis pulls himself together in an instant, coaxes his cheeks and eyes dry and his nose clear like he does it everyday. Maybe he does. Nick has a hand on Louis' shoulder as they both watch Tyler somehow tumble in with all five kids and Amelia. He smiles weakly at Nick while all the kids look so. . . lost. Annie is quietly guiding Jack through the kitchen with wide, timid eyes and Isabelle and Marion are watching her with the same expression. Noah's the only one who looks content as he sleeps in his stroller, and that's just. It's heartbreaking, that's what it is. 

The minute Annie spots him, she bursts into tears. 

It makes Louis' heart clench and Jack's face twist in confusion as she comes tumbling towards him on wobbly legs, abandoning her siblings. Louis moves quickly to his feet and crouches down so Annie can get a proper hug, which is something she obviously needs right now. Her body is still small, so small, but it hits him like a ton of bricks when she practically tackles him. She tucks her face into Louis' neck and sobs freely, her fingers coming to nibble at the back of his shirt. He isn't sure why he expects her to, but she doesn't say anything. Maybe she's too young to understand guilt or regret and all she knows is that she's sad, even if she doesn't know why. 

Louis, though. Louis makes sure to say a lot. He tells her over and over that she's okay, that it's going to be okay, that she didn't know any better, that everything is fine. He promises her that Harry loves her very much and that she didn't let him down, and that just makes her cry harder. By now, Tyler and Nick have shooed all the others out of the living room to give the two their space. He eventually gets her calm enough to pull away and wipe her cheeks, but even then, she looks incredibly sad and lost. 

"Is Papa gonna be okay?" she asks around a sniffle as her nails softly scratch at Louis' neck. Louis smiles, fake but there, and grabs her tiny hands in his own. 

And because he refuses to lie about this, he squeezes her hands gently and says, "I hope so," which apparently is good enough for her. 

-

That night, convincing everyone to sleep is terribly hard. Annie is hellbent on finishing her drawing for Harry, Isabelle and Marion don't want to stop playing with their dolls (Louis doesn't want to say playing, because they were only sitting next to one another with dolls in their hands as they watched his every move), Jack doesn't know what's going on but he's decided it calls for a tantrum every five minutes, and Noah is cranky and fussy and won't drink his bottle, which he can't fall asleep without. Eventually, though, after Tyler promises him that he'll get Noah to sleep, everyone understands that it's time to cut the shit and do as they're told. Jack is the only one who refuses to listen, and Louis sighs before scooping him up and taking him to his own bedroom. 

Harry and Louis' shared bedroom, Louis decides as he changes the sheets, is mostly Harry's right now. Before the second diagnosis, Louis' clutter consumed the room, but now, things can't be cluttered. Clutter means dirt, and dirt means germs, and germs mean the situation they're in currently. The room primarily consists of Harry's favorite blankets and pillows, his slippers and his beanies, water bottles near Harry's side, and an empty spot where Harry's medical binder used to be. Louis ignores how his heart thrums and his throat closes up with tears as he crawls into fresh, clean sheets and wraps himself in Harry's favorite purple blanket. Since it's probably ridden with germs, Louis tucks Jack in with a different blanket, a clean one.

He wishes it was harder to fall asleep, but the stress of the day and the not-thinking he's forcing himself to do has tired him out, and as soon as Jack's breaths even out, he falls asleep, too. 

That is, until four-thirty one in the morning when he wakes up with uncontrollable guilt and fear.

He doesn't remember if he was dreaming or not -- he guesses not since there's not many good things to dream about right now -- but his eyes snap open, jolting him awake. It's like his brain was thinking without his permission as he slept.

His first instinct is to make sure Jack's still sleeping, which he is. His second is to check his phone to see if there's been any updates. The light from his phone screen blinds him momentarily, but he sees that Anne has simply texted him a goodnight two hours ago, and that's it. Harry's still alive. He reaches out to smooth over Jack's bunched up t-shirt, lets his fingers rest against the warmth of his son's arm. Jack, who is constantly looking for a reason to be up and running at all times, squirms slightly. Louis freezes as he makes a small noise, and relaxes when he decides that he's not going to wake up. 

Louis lays in bed like that for three hours straight, his mind repeating a loop of  _ just stop thinking, just stop thinking, just stop thinking. _ At seven-thirty, Noah starts to cry and it seems only fitting to begin his day. He carefully picks up Jack with intentions of putting him to bed for a few more hours, but when Jack curls into his warmth and mouths at his t-shirt, Louis decides he can stick around for a little while. 

As he shuffles to Noah's nursery, his bones creek and his head pounds and he's reminded of how old he is now. This time isn't like last time for some many reasons, but maybe the scariest part of this is the fact neither Harry or Louis are kids. Harry doesn't have the same strong, almost-indestructible, healthy body and Louis doesn't have the same hope, because even if he was a sad sack of shit back then, he was still hopeful. Hope seems foolish now. 

He clings on tighter to Jack and tells himself that hope isn't foolish, and that it's alive and vibrant in five of his own little humans. 

A curl of fears slashes his stomach as Louis opens the door to Noah's nursery and a quiet, hushed voice is heard, but it quickly dissolves when he sees Nick softly coddling Noah in his arms. Tyler looks exhausted from where he is holding Nick from behind, and it feels like a punch to the gut because that should be him and Harry right now.

Jack, who is apparently awake and Louis didn't do a very good job at keeping him asleep, makes a quiet little baby sound that is probably for his brother.

"Oh," Tyler murmurs quietly. "Sorry, we didn't mean to overstep."

"You didn't. I mean, you're not, it's just. . . "

"You don't need to explain anything," Nick says. He pulls away from Tyler but keeps a hand on his hip and smiles gently. "You can go whenever you want to. To the hospital, I mean. Me and Ty are going to handle this morning, and Zayn said he can take care of them tonight."

It sounds tempting, and then he feels completely guilty for it. The kids can't have both Harry and Louis gone at the same time; that's not fair, nor do they deserve to have to be abandoned like that. And it's not like Harry needs him; Harry's probably not going to be talking or even awake much in the next few days, his body is too weak.

"Louis," Nick murmurs. "They'll be okay without you. For today, at least. Maybe tomorrow you can try and stick around a bit longer? But right now you need to be there for Harry. We've got it, it's okay."

Louis doesn't fight him on it. He's not got much fight left, anyway.

-

The way Harry always manages to look incredibly small in a hospital bed is beyond Louis. Someone so big can be shrunk to nothing, and that's terrifying. And the tubes and the mask over his mouth, the loud machine helping him breathe and the nurses bustling in and out of his room everyone half hour isn't making any of this less terrifying. 

He's been at the hospital for four hours, just mindlessly watching Harry and pleading to the universe to not take Harry away from him, and it's still not enough time. The only thing that Louis will be content with is sitting in this hospital room next to Harry with all five kids wrapped up in his lap. Seeing as Harry didn't want them to see him this way, that's not going to happen, so Louis is stuck in the middle. 

"Annie's going to need to see him, dear," Anne whispers, careful not to upset him. Nick called about twenty minutes ago with a hysterical Annie on the other end, who was begging and pleading to see Harry.  _ Only for a minute, Daddy, please.  _ "It's not good for her to be so worried like this, especially for days straight. She needs to see he's okay."

Louis just barely manages to keep himself from rolling his eyes. He's staring straight forward at Harry, his hand clutching onto Harry's lifeless one pointlessly. "He's not okay. Clearly. It'll just scare her, seeing him this way."

"She needs to see that he's alive, Louis."

"This is exactly what he didn't want," Louis snaps, angry at Anne for not understanding and angry at himself for not fucking listening to Harry. They always say that people only start listening when you're gone, and Harry's gone, even if he's not dead. "He didn't want our children to see him this way, so I'm not going to let them."

Anne sighs quietly. "I know you mean well, sweetheart, but this isn't about him right now. Annie needs to be with him right now, like you do. She's the eldest so she understands the most. She's completely aware that she might never see him again. And if there's anything you can do to soothe her fears, you need to do it."

Louis doesn't respond. Anne tries again. "When he wakes up, he's still going to be on the ventilator, he's still going to be out of it. They said he needs it for a minimum of seven days -- so what, you're going to make her suffer for seven whole days? Maybe more? He wouldn't want that, and I know you don't, either."

"He's going to hate me when he wakes up," he whispers. "I didn't listen to him. I forced him to keep going, and then I took away the one thing that he had to hold onto. If things had gone his way, he'd be dead right now. He didn't want to be hooked up to all these stupid machines, but I forced him to be, and now he's going to be stuck like this for a week because of me."

It's obvious by the shake of her head and her pursed lips that she doesn't agree with him, but she's not going to push it, either, and that's all Louis cares about right now. Anne reaches forward to touch softly at Harry's shoulders, rubbing away imaginary lint, before she sighs quietly. 

"He was awake for about an hour this morning, I think," she tells him, although she doesn't look away from her son. "His eyes were open for a little while, and, I don't know, it seemed like he was with me, somehow."  _ So he could be awake right now, he could be hearing us, so maybe we shouldn't be talking like this right now,  _ is what she's trying to communicate. 

"Even if he is awake, he's probably not going to be able to process what he's saying. He's most likely not going to be lucid for at least a few days." Despite himself, he drops his voice to a whisper. Maybe he doesn't actually believe what he's saying. 

Anne seems to realize this, and she doesn't say anything else for a long while. 

Hours pass by oddly in hospitals. Some go by in the blink of an eye, and some last days. It's like they enter a different realm when they come into a hospital room, like time stops working right. But, whatever it is, by the time it reaches five o'clock and Louis knows he should go home, it feels as though he's been sitting in the same chair for a week but it somehow doesn't seem long enough, either. 

Anne excuses herself when she gets the message Louis wants to say goodbye in private before he leaves. Louis' beyond thankful. He could be saying  _ goodbye, see you tomorrow _ , or tomorrow doesn't come for Harry and it could be a goodbye forever. He needs to make sure he says everything he wants to say. 

Except, he doesn't actually end up saying much for a bit, he just holds Harry's hand and stares at him for a little while, until he feels stupid and he accepts that Harry's not going to wake up before he leaves just because Louis wants him to. 

"I love you," he murmurs, kissing the back of his hand. "I love you a lot, baby. And I just -- I hope you can forgive me for not understanding, and for being a hypocrite, but. . . " He stands up so he can kiss the top of Harry's head better, and he doesn't let go of his hand. "I won't -- you can let go, Harry. I won't be mad, I promise. You can let go. You've fought for a really, really long time, and I can't ask you to fight anymore for me. If you have a choice in this at all, I promise you, I'll be okay with whatever you choose. So will the kids. We'll understand, baby. You won't be disappointing anyone if you wanted to let go."

Tears are threatening to spill over, and it's a miracle he's been able to keep them at bay this long. He needs to make sure Harry hears him.

"But this isn't me giving up on you, either," he says sternly. "I'm not telling you to stop, I just. I want you to make this decision with your best interest in mind. And I promise you, god, I  _ promise _ you, if you decide to wake up, I'll be better. I'll be better, Harry. I promise."

He leaves then, after planting a firm kiss on Harry's forehead. He practically flings himself out the door, too scared to cry in front of Harry, and Anne gives him a soft look of pity as she stands up from the waiting room chairs so she can go back inside. She looks tired. Louis should really tell her to go home, but he doesn't want Harry to be alone for a fraction of a second, so he doesn't. 

-

Zayn looks beyond tired by the time Louis gets home, and he tries his best to not look relieved when Louis tells him he can go to bed or go home, whichever. He stays, but he wanders off the guest room and doesn't come out to help when Louis starts to make dinner, although he takes Noah, which is somewhat of a relief. Noah's an easy baby, but Louis should probably save all of his energy in handling the older kids. 

"Girls, dinner's done," he calls softly. They're just in the living room, close enough to hear but far away enough so he doesn't have to put up a fake-happy front while cooking. He puts everyone's plates on the table, trying to ignore how he doesn't have one for Harry, and waits for them to come. 

Marion's the first one to enter the kitchen, and she immediately comes to Louis for a hug. He hugs her tightly, telling her it's okay, just eat your dinner, everything fine, and she nods stiffly in his shoulder and is sitting down at the table by the time Isabelle and Annie come to eat. Annie's holding Jack's hand, and Jack keeps trying to drag her in different directions for the sake of annoying her, but she's used to it by now and ignores it. 

Louis tries his hardest to get a decent conversation going at the table, but no one -- not even oblivious little Isabelle or Jack -- is feeling too talkative, and most of the time whenever Louis says something, they all comment on it shortly before going silent again. It makes his skin crawl; this isn't how his children are. Even when he herds everyone to the living room to watch a movie, nobody really seems to care, and Louis knows he's going to have to talk to them about Harry, but what is he supposed to say that they'll understand?

He lets them take the wheel and asks them quietly if they have any questions about anything. At first, Jack, who is laying on the floor, playing with his toys, is the only one who pays him any attention. He looks up at him, eyes wide, like he always does whenever Louis says anything, but when he realizes it's nothing interesting, he goes back to his toys. Marion is snuggled up on his lap while the other two are curled into his sides, and he feels all of them stiffen. Marion starts picking at his sleeves, something she does when she's nervous. 

"When is Papa gonna come home?" Annie asks, quiet. Louis suppresses a sigh. 

"I don't know, baby, I'm sorry. Hopefully soon, but -- "  _ but he could die, you could never see him again. _ "But he's very sick, loves, and he needs the doctors to help him feel better."

"I miss him," Isabelle whispers. 

Louis' heart tightens. "I know, sweetheart. He misses you guys, too."

Annie sighs. "Can we see him? At the hospital?"

"No, I'm sorry," he tells her, not even caring about what Anne said earlier. "Maybe in a few days when he's feeling a bit better, but not right now."

"Why not?" Marion asks, furrowing her eyebrows. She looks cute, acting so serious.

" _ You  _ get to see him," Annie points out, huffing. She doesn't pull away from Louis, though. "You got to be with him all day, and we had to stay home with stupid Uncle Zayn."

"Hey, hey, be nice," Louis tsks, frowning. 

"He almost forgot to feed my fish!" she argues, squinting up at him. 

"Okay, okay, but I'm sure it was a mistake." He takes a deep breath. "And I'm sorry, but your uncles and aunts are probably going to be watching you a lot over the next week or so."

Isabelle pokes at his side. "What about Grandma?"

"Grandma's at the hospital, baby."

Annie frowns. "So everyone but us can see Papa?" Her bottom lip wobbles, but she looks angry and determined so he knows she won't cry. "I want to see him, Daddy. I want to show him my pictures."

Louis hesitates before saying, "He's not really awake, sweetie. He's -- he's very sick, okay? But I can bring your pictures to his room and hang them up, maybe. So he can see them when he wakes up."

"So he's just sleeping?"

Louis shrugs. Not really, but he can't really explain to the kids that Harry's body is basically on survival mode as it tries to repair itself. "Yeah, I suppose."

Marion makes a face. "Why can't he sleep at home?"

"Because the doctors, honey, he needs the doctor's help."

She huffs loudly. "Fine, then I wanna be a doctor."

Despite the situation, Louis smiles softly. He knows his daughter well enough to know that she doesn't actually want to be a doctor when she's older -- he's thinking therapist or artist -- and that galaxies didn't align for Marion to assume the occupation of the person she was named after, but it's still nice to imagine his teeny tiny daughter as a doctor. 

"It's not that easy, lovey," he tells her, and when she pesters him wanting to know why not, he has to explain to her school and college and "eight whole years of school? That's older than I am!" By the time he's fully explained to Marion the complexity of becoming a doctor, especially an oncologist, the kids seem sick of talking and just want to watch their movie. It's something stupid and new that Louis doesn't understand, but he tries to pay attention for them. 

-

Harry's officially in the clear three days later. 

Actually, no -- nothing's promised, especially in cancer patients, and things could flip back the other way if someone so much as looks at him the wrong way, but. They're confident he's going to get past this little bump, although he's going to need the ventilator for at least a few more days. 

He's managing to communicate a little now with his eyes and by weakly squeezing their palms, and it's not much, especially because he still sleeps most of the day, but it's enough. 

The first thing Louis asked him when they'd established a communication system is if Harry wanted the kids to visit him, to which he immediately rejected. Louis could see it in his face, in the way his eyes lit up with frustration and pain. No. And he started to cry, wet, leaky tears seeping out of his eyes, and Louis felt so shitty he started crying too, and it was just a mess. He doesn't know how to explain it to the kids that Harry wants to see them but he doesn't want them seeing him, so he sticks with the story that Harry is still very sleepy and that they can't wake him until he's all better. 

That day comes sooner than expected when Harry's taken off the ventilator and he doesn't need to be immediately put back on it because his lungs fail. Louis is beyond relieved and actually a little surprised; Harry's still in pretty bad shape, but if he's strong enough to breathe on his own, that's a sure sign of progress. Ventilator or no ventilator, though, he's still bloody exhausted, and Louis tries his hardest not to be frustrated when Harry sleeps the majority of the time Louis' with him. 

Harry's talking again a few days later, and it's been officially a week and three days since Harry first got to the hospital. It's been ten days since the kids have seen their father, and they're all constantly weepy and short-tempered, and Louis can't take it anymore. 

"H, love," Louis murmurs, stroking his thumb over Harry's wrist. "The kids really, really miss you."

Harry's eyelids flutter. Louis' been here for an hour this morning, and Harry's already getting tired again. "Miss them too."

Louis bites his lip, hard, before sighing. "Are you. . . are you ready to see them?" Immediately, Harry's face twists up in hurt and Louis tries to act quickly. "Babe, baby, I know you don't want them seeing you like this, but -- they've seen worse, haven't they? Maybe they aren't used to seeing tubes in you, but they've seen you puke a hundred times and they've seen you exhausted, they've -- they can handle this, honey, I promise."

"I'm so tired, Lou," Harry murmurs, his eyes slipping shut. Louis squeezes his hand tightly, a nonverbal  _ you can rest, it's okay _ , but Harry squeezes weakly back. "Can they come tonight?"

Louis' heart nearly leaps out of his chest and his throat tightens. He thought he'd really have to bully Harry into this, as bad as it sounds, but he doesn't, and he's so fucking thankful. "Of course. Yes, of course. Anne can bring them with her when she comes back to the hospital." Since Harry's been more alert, Louis' been staying at the hospital all day instead of Anne and only leaving him at night. It's not exactly fair to the kids, but Harry gets anxious when Louis' not with him, and neither Anne nor Louis wanted him in distress the entire time he's supposed to be healing. 

"What've you told them?"

"That you've been very sick and that you need the doctors to take care of you." He squeezes Harry's hand again. "None of them are mad at you. Annie's a bit cross with me, and Isabelle's been a lot more fussy lately, but they all seem to understand you can't help this, that you aren't intentionally being away from them."

Harry nods once. He's only going to be able to stay awake for a few more minutes, Louis can tell. It's okay. 

-

It's hard getting three kids who can barely sit still because they're filled to the brim with anticipation to see their dad to listen, and Louis' beyond impatient when he has to tell Marion for the fourth time to pay attention to what he's saying. 

"It's important," he stresses, prying Jack's fingers away from his hair. He's sitting crouched in front of three chairs in a small, private office that a doctor led them to when Louis asked for some privacy. Noah's babbling quietly in Annie's arms and Jack is climbing all over Louis, clearly having missed him all day. 

He tells them that he's going to bring the little ones -- Jack and Noah -- in to see Harry first, and that Anne will be watching them while Louis stays with Harry, and that a little bit later, the other three can come, too. Louis wanted to have them each come in one by one, but he couldn't work out a way to pick who goes first and who goes last without seeming like he was playing favorites, and Harry told him that it was okay, that they could handle them all at once. 

"You have to watch what you're doing in there, okay?" he says. "Papa's getting help from some machines, and you can't be running around and not paying any attention." They nod, Isabelle a little belatedly, and he's pretty sure she doesn't quite understand what's happening and that she's just following the lead of her sisters, but he doesn't want her feeling left out. "He's. . . a little sleepy, okay? So if he's not acting like himself, don't be upset, he's just tired."

Annie pouts. "But he's been sleeping forever," she grumbles.

"I know, baby. I know. But he's still sick, remember? So we have to be considerate."

"Okay," she sighs. She shifts her arm under Noah so she's supporting his head a little better. 

Louis smiles gently at them. "Okay. I'm gonna bring Noah and Jack in right now, okay?" They all nod, and Louis takes that as they don't have any questions, so he stands. He sets Jack on his feet and tells him sternly to hold onto his hand, because ever since Jack started walking his rebellious streak has gotten even worse, and then Louis collects Noah from Annie's arms. 

Jack's going on and on about giraffes, for some reason, the whole walk there, but eventually, they get there and Louis lets go of Jack's hand for a split second to open the door. Immediately, Jack takes that as permission to try and wander somewhere else, and Louis sighs and grabs his hand again before he can go anywhere far. 

Harry's sitting up in bed, quietly talking to Anne while simultaneously watching TV, and he breaks out into a tired grin when he sees the three of them. Jack seems excited to see him while Noah kind of just doesn't understand the big whoop, although he does give Harry a toothless smile when Louis carefully places him on Harry's chest. It's obviously a bit overwhelming to dote on both of them at the same time, but Harry manages with one big hand on Noah's tiny back, thumb rubbing soothing circles there, and his attention trained on Jack, who's burrowed into his side, face tucked into Harry's neck the best he can while still being so tiny. 

"Have you been good for Daddy?" Harry whispers to Jack, still smiling. Jack squirms slightly, and they all laugh quietly. "No, you probably haven't been, have you? You little troublemaker." Harry looks at peace like this, staring down at his two littlest children. It helps ease Louis' nerves, because not only is Harry okay again, he's well enough to smile. 

Annie, Marion and Isabelle forget about the rules Louis so carefully laid out for them as soon as they get in. Annie runs to Harry's bed, immediately bursting into tears at the sight of him, and she climbs up onto him and clings, not paying any attention to any of the tubes she might be touching. Marion and Isabelle go to him, too, and Jack gets fussy because he's not the center of attention anymore, but Louis holds him and it seems to solve most of his grievances. Isabelle trips when getting off Harry's bed and almost knocks into the machine next to Harry's bed, making Louis' heart drop, but overall, they're good. They're together again as a family, and that's all Louis wants. 

-

Harry spends a lot of time in bed when they get him back home. It's not exactly a surprise; his body is still recovering and he still has cancer and he's emotionally drained, all of which makes a person lethargic. Annie's beyond bummed though, which Louis tries to shield Harry from, but he catches on and starts spending more time downstairs. 

Things pretty much go back to normal after that, although Louis' constantly checking in on Harry, taking his temperature every six hours and asking him every two seconds if he's feeling okay. Surprisingly, Harry doesn't seem all too bothered by it, which probably means he's either grateful that Louis' no longer giving him the cold shoulder, or he's more scared about this whole thing then he lets on. 

They don't talk about it -- chemo, that is -- until Dr. Cabot texts them both that Harry's in the clear to start it again, about a month later. He's recovered enough that his body won't collapse on itself if he starts chemotherapy back up, and Louis doesn't know what to say or how to feel. This entire time, he's been so insistent on Harry doing treatment, and now, he has no idea what he wants. 

Harry's sleeping on the couch when she texts them. He's laying on his back, Isabelle sound asleep with her head against his chest. Louis takes a picture, just because, and he leaves the living room to check on the kids, who went to sleep about twenty minutes ago. Annie threw a proper tantrum that Isabelle got to lay with Harry and she didn't, which Louis did not have the energy for. Isabelle and Harry fell asleep next to each other around the same time, but Annie was wide awake still. 

He's not surprised to see Annie's light on, and he makes sure the other kids are sleeping before going inside her room to check on her. She's sitting up in bed, knees pulled up to her chest and head resting on them, peering down at a book Anne has in her lap. When Louis squints, he can see it's a scrap book of some sort. 

"Hello, hello," he greets quietly, making his presence known. Anne smiles softly at him while Annie sighs quietly. He walks over and joins them on the bed, pulling Annie close, and looks at the book. He was right -- it's a photo album -- and there's a few pictures of Harry, Gemma, and Anne on the pages she's opened up to. 

"Did you know Papa dressed up as Scooby-Doo once?" Annie asks, voice tired. He kisses the top of her head and nods. She snuggles up against him and makes a noise of content. "He looked silly."

"He always looks silly," he counters, and she giggles quietly. She's tired, Louis can tell, so he only lets her stay up twenty minutes longer. Anne looks exhausted too, so he doesn't keep her awake by telling her about Dr. Cabot's text. He walks back to the kitchen -- he could probably get some chores done until he's tired -- and on his way, he can hear tiny little cries and quiet shushing which make him walk a hell of a lot faster. 

Harry's got Isabelle on his hip, swaying back and forth slowly as she cries. They're facing away from the doorway, so Louis can see how tight Isabelle's clinging to Harry's shirt. "I'm okay, baby, I'm alright, don't worry," Harry keeps saying, and Louis stops at the doorway, trying to figure out what could've happened when he was gone. 

"H?" he murmurs, stepping further into the kitchen. At the sound of his voice, Harry turns to him, and he has a tissue pressed against his nose, looking tired. 

"It's just a nosebleed," Harry promises, giving him a soft smile. "It's pretty much done, I think. She's just. . . a bit worked up about it." He kisses the top of their daughter's head, murmuring something quietly in her ear. Isabelle does look upset, her little face scrunched up with worry and fear. Times like this make Louis think they made a mistake in telling the kids Harry was sick so soon. 

"Izzy, love," Louis says quietly, walking towards them. He wraps his arm around Harry's waist and sets a hand on her back. "Papa's alright."

"He's  _ bleeding _ ," she hiccups. She's seen Harry's nose bleed before, it's nothing new, but maybe it feels a little more scary for her because of Harry's scare not too long ago. 

Harry wipes at his nose lightly one last time before moving to throw away the tissue. He sets Isabelle on the counter, smiling at her. "I'm fine, see?" he says, motioning to his now-clean nose. She sniffles a little, staring at his nose intensely. She nods and allows Harry to wipe the tears of her face. 

"Can I lay in your bed?" she asks, giving Harry puppy-dog eyes because she knows he's more likely to say yes than Louis is. She pouts a little. "Just for tonight?"

"Sure, baby," Harry agrees. "Just for tonight, though."

-

Isabelle falls asleep almost immediately, but it's just after nine and neither Harry or Louis are tired. Harry messes around on his phone a bit so Louis knows he's seen the text, and they don't talk about it. Can't talk about it, because that's not a conversation they can have with a two year old sprawled in the middle of the bed. He can just sense that Harry's mind is reeling, and he wants so badly to cuddle him up and take care of everything, but Isabelle is stopping that. 

Harry sighs eventually, and sets his phone on the table. He rolls out of bed, and Louis thinks he just has to pee or something, but he walks over to Louis' side and lays down in-between Louis' slightly spread legs, getting comfy by laying his head on Louis' chest. Louis doesn't say anything, just squeezes his arm and goes back to watching TV. When Harry tugs at the bottom of his shirt, he gets the message and takes it off, doing his best not to jostle Isabelle too much. Harry looks content when he lays back down and he rests his hand on Louis' bare stomach. 

"You okay?" Louis asks quietly, running a hand over Harry's arm. Harry nods into his chest and Louis leaves it at that; they'll talk in the morning.

Except he can't sleep, not with the way Harry keeps shifting around like he can't get comfortable. Louis ignores it at first, but when Harry wakes him up for the third or fourth time by repositioning for the millionth time, Louis decides he should probably intervene. 

"Haz," he mumbles tiredly, cracking his eyes open. The clock shows it's almost midnight; Harry's been tossing and turning for over two hours. Harry stills against him, and Louis shakes his head. "'S okay, baby." He finds Harry's hand and squeezes. "Why can't you sleep?"

Harry presses his face against Louis' shoulder. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

Louis' stomach churns. He doesn't want to be talking about this, and he doesn't want to hear Harry is as unsure as he is. A part of him thinks it's a positive sign that Harry's not one-hundred percent team no-chemo, but it's not genuine. He's not sure if chemotherapy is the right thing for Harry to do anymore. He wants it to be, and he wants Harry to want it to be, but if that's not how Harry's feeling, Louis isn't sure he can force him through it again. 

"It's up to you," Louis says softly, and it's a struggle to get those words out. He's pretty sure he'll breakdown if Harry tells him he doesn't to do chemotherapy again, but he's entirely sure that he needs to support Harry no matter what. 

Harry's fingers dig into the side of Louis' hip. "Really?"

"Yeah, H." He closes his eyes and squeezes Harry's fingers. "I -- you know what I prefer you do, but I'm not going to judge you if that's -- if you can't anymore. I'll support you no matter what, love. God knows I haven't been doing that these last few months."

He opens his eyes when Harry shifts and lifts off of him to look him in the eyes. It's dark, but Louis can still make out the shape of his features, and he looks confused. "That's not true. You've supported me, Lou. More than anyone else."

A hot clutch of tears fists his throat. "We were arguing so much because I wouldn't stop being so fucking stubborn," Louis argues, shaking his head. "If you would've died, I would feel so fucking guilty for that. I  _ do _ feel guilty for that. You're in pain, and I just. . . made it all worse."

"We disagreed on one thing, that doesn't make you a shit person, Louis," Harry says, and he sounds shocked. "I was mad at you for not understanding my position, yeah, and I've said awful things to you that I regret, but -- love, you pushed me to give our kids a few more months with me. I'd be dead right now, probably, if it wasn't for you. And. . . and yeah, maybe I wanted to do this on my own terms, but I don't disagree that that's selfish." He leans down to press a long, warm kiss to Louis' temple, and Louis closes his eyes, letting himself focus on that. "You're still my favorite person in the entire world."

"I just feel like I messed everything up."

"You didn't," Harry promises softly. "I didn't either. We. . . both of us probably could have done better, but we aren't the ones who screwed everything up."

Louis furrows his eyebrows. "Then who is?"

Harry smiles sadly and shrugs. He untangles their fingers so he can press his hand to Louis' cheek, and this is the closest they've felt in months. "This bastard of a guy called cancer," Harry says quietly, and he sounds lighthearted even though Louis knows he's desperately sad. "Just won't leave me be."

"Awfully clingy of him," Louis agrees, giving him a weaker smile than the one Harry's giving him.

-

The following day, Harry's feeling a little worse than normal, so they try to find ways to occupy the kids that doesn't require them to move around much, but also doesn't make them feel like bad parents. So they shoo the kids outside after bundling them up in coats and hats and gloves, and Louis and Harry sit on the bench on the deck, watching them. Harry's head is in his lap, and he's gripping onto Louis' fingers tightly. His eyes are half-shut, and Louis wonders if the pain medication he gave him a half hour ago is doing anything to help.

"Still hurts?" Louis asks softly, in case Harry's managed to fall asleep. He woke up around six because his bones felt sore and tender, and he hadn't been able to fall back asleep.

Harry nods against his thigh. "Got a headache now, too."

"My poor love," Louis mumbles, rubbing at Harry's back. His heart breaks for him. This seems so cruel, how drawn-out this whole thing has been. 

They move back inside for lunch, and Harry feels so sick that he can't eat. He still sits at the table with them though, holding Noah, and that seems enough to make the kids not worry about him. They talk to him too fast and too loudly and Louis can see how badly Harry wants them all to be quiet, and he's just glad he's able to be patient with them right now. Louis tries to get the kids' attention off of Harry and onto something else, but it doesn't work; all they want is Harry, and that's impossible to avoid. 

Still, after lunch, Louis tells them they have to give Harry a bit of a break. "He's tired, loves," he tells them softly, running his hand over Harry's head. His hair has been growing back, so it's not just skin that he's touching.

Isabelle and Marion pout, while Annie sits up and eyes them carefully. "Just tired?" she asks, and Harry nods at her. 

"Just tired, babe."

He's still feeling like shit, but the kids don't need to know that.

It goes the same way the next day, Harry feeling poorly and clutching onto Louis for comfort. He's scared, and Louis hates that immensely. The kids seem to pick up on it, too, probably because Harry's never more than a foot away from Louis. They must know that something bigger is going on when he does that. 

Harry breaks down in a fit of tears while Louis and him are cleaning up the bathroom. Jack just had a bath, and Jack doesn't listen to them when they tell him not to splash. One second Harry's wiping down the floor with the towel, and the next, he's sitting on his heels and letting out small cries.

"Hey, hey," Louis whispers, scooting over to him. He wraps his arm around Harry's shoulder, and Harry leans down to rest his head on Louis' shoulder.

"I just want this to be over, Louis," Harry cries. "If I'm going to get healthy again, then I want to be healthy now. If I'm going to die, then I just want to die now. I hate this. I hate this so much."

This is where Louis would tell him that he's not going to get healthy again if he doesn't go through chemotherapy, but that's not what Harry needs to hear right now and he can't keep doing that to them. "I know you do, babe. I know. You don't deserve this."

"I hate what I'm doing to our family," he chokes out, and immediately, Louis shushes him. 

"You aren't doing anything to us, sweetheart. We're all okay, and we all just want you to be better. The kids are still happy, and we're still fine, and -- and Harry, love, please do not put all that pressure on yourself. You can't help that you're sick."

Harry lets out a shaky breath and pulls away from Louis. He still looks incredibly sad, but he goes back to wiping at the floor. Louis sits near him for about thirty seconds, letting Harry be alone in his own head for just a second, before shaking his head and standing. He rubs at Harry's shoulders and tugs him up. 

"Come on," he says. "We can clean up later. It's mostly dry, anyway."

Harry doesn't get up, but he stops cleaning. "That's not a good thing to teach the kids."

"Oh well. Come on."

Louis feels guilty leaving Anne with the kids longer than he said he would, but Harry needs to relax a little, so he helps him off the floor and guides him to their room. He tucks Harry in like he's a child, at which Harry laughs quietly and slaps his hands away. Louis grabs the remote and turns out a shit comedy that they've watched too many times, and he holds Harry tightly and tells him to relax, if he can. 

Marion comes wandering into their room about forty-five minutes later, and Louis cringes. Harry fell asleep about ten minutes ago, and he was beginning to feel sick again, so Louis wanted to keep him asleep as long as he could. He presses a finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet, and she nods before climbing into bed, on Louis' side, and tucking herself into his side, opposite to Harry.

"Is Papa tired again?" she whispers, and he nods. 

"Just a little, baby. We have to let him sleep."

Harry manages to get three hours of sleep before he's woken by Noah wailing from what sounds like his room. He startles, and then winces, and Louis shushes him and gets out of bed with Marion following him to Noah's nursery. Anne's already in there, and she waves him off. 

"I've got him," she says, shaking her head. "He's just tired. He wouldn't lie down for his nap earlier."

Marion stays with Anne while Louis nods and thanks her quietly before going back to their room, where Harry's still lying down. He's nose is bleeding now, though, and he's not doing anything to stop it. Instead, he's letting it bleed all over his pillow as he holds Louis' against his chest. He looks completely lost right now. 

"Babe," Louis says sadly, before going over and grabbing a tissue and helping Harry clean himself up. Harry doesn't fight him at all, and Louis almost wishes he would because he hates how defeated Harry looks right now. 

-

Harry's quiet and teary-eyed the rest of the day, and Louis wants to focus on him and him only, but the kids need them to at least show their faces, so they spend time downstairs. Harry stays cuddled up with Annie on the couch most of the night, and that's fine. Louis has Anne to help with the rest of them. 

At dinner, Harry doesn't eat. He tries to, but he's feeling ill and his body doesn't want anything else to deal with, so he doesn't have much of an appetite. 

He sticks around to help with the dishes, although he doesn't say much as he washes and Louis dries. It's okay; Harry's upset, and he's scared, and it's perfectly reasonable for him to get a little quiet. 

They finish up the dishes and Harry starts to wipe down the counters while Louis tidies up the cabinets a bit. He's going through the kids' snacks when Harry clears his throat. 

"Lou," he says, and Louis turns to look at him. 

"What, babe?"

Harry stares at him for a long few seconds before saying, "I start chemo tomorrow morning. My appointment's at eight."

Immediately, Louis is overrun with a variety of emotions; shock, mostly, because he thought Harry would need more time figuring this out, and that he didn't tell him before he made the decision. And happiness, of course. He's fucking overjoyed that Harry decided to go through with it. He's proud, too, that Harry chose to go back to chemotherapy. Being proud makes him feel a bit guilty though. 

Louis sets the box of Corn Flakes he's holding and goes over to hug Harry with everything he has in him. He squeezes him tightly, and Harry hugs him back just as fiercely. 

"You're going to be there, right?" Harry asks, sounding choked up. 

Louis nods instantly against Harry's shoulder. "Yes. Of course. I always have been, always will be."

"Good. Thank you."

"Don't thank me for that." 

As happy as Louis is about the decision, he also knows that this is one of the scariest things for Harry to go through with, so he tries not to be too chipper and overly excited around Harry. Harry needs things to be calm right now, so Louis' going to try and give him that. He also doesn't force Harry to talk about it, which Harry seems appreciative of.

Harry tells Anne before bed, and she cries with joy and hugs him tight. Harry looks so uncomfortable, so defeated, and Louis hates it with a passion. He quickly tells his mum that he has to put the kids to sleep, and it's so obvious that he's trying to slip away from her, but Anne is too blinded with happiness to notice it. 

Louis lets the situation play itself out and goes upstairs to get ready for bed. He said goodnight to the kids already, and if Harry can't get one of them to sleep, he'll come get Louis, so Louis lays in bed and plays around on his phone until Harry comes up to their room. 

He does about forty minutes later. There's a lot of kids to convince to go to sleep, and Harry likes -- _ loves _ \-- to spend time with them each individually before bed, reading them stories and talking to them quietly about whatever they want to, so Louis' not exactly surprised it takes him so long. He's also not surprised that Jack is on his hip, talking loudly in Harry's ear and kicking his feet. 

"This kid will be the death of us when he gets older," Louis mumbles, sitting up, getting ready to take Jack. As soon as Harry sits down, Jack climbs off him and goes to Louis, and Louis' prepared for the way Jack completely throws himself at Louis. "Can you imagine this little devil as a teenager? We're in for it, I swear."

He's smiling softly, and Harry's not. He's staring at the two of them sadly, like this is the last time he's ever going to see them together. Louis sighs. 

"Love, go get ready for bed, yeah? I can try to get him to sleep."

Harry shakes his head. "Want him to sleep with us tonight."

Louis loves Jack like mad, but he knows that letting him sleep in here is begging him to keep them up half the night. He's clearly not tired, and Harry clearly is, and he has to be strong for chemo, he _ has _ to, but if Harry wants Jack to sleep with them in bed tonight, then fine. Louis will roll with whatever punches Jack brings. 

Harry gets up to go to the bathroom, and while he's gone, Louis talks quietly with Jack about Annie's fish. It's not the most thrilling conversation; Jack seems confused as to how there's fish that live in the ocean and fish that live in small little tanks, and Louis' trying his best to explain things to him. When Harry comes back and crawls into bed next to them, Jack stops his line of questions in favor of turning to Harry and grabbing the drawstring of his sweats. Harry lets him tug at them, not caring. 

After a few minutes, though, Louis tells him that it's bedtime and that, if he's going to sleep in here, he can't keep them up the entire night. Jack pouts, about to protest, but Harry shakes his head at him. 

"Buddy," he says, voice tired. "You promised you'd be good for me, didn't you?"

Jack pauses. "But -- "

"No, bub. It's time for sleep, alright?"

"Okayy," Jack murmurs, sounding kind of sad. He plops down on the bed and nestles up under Harry's arm. It's surprising, a bit. Jack almost always goes to Louis over Harry. It's okay, Louis doesn't mind. He can handle not having Jack wrapped around him the entire night, because he kicks in his sleep and because Harry looks completely at peace right now. 

-

Harry goes back to seeing his therapist quite quickly after the first round of chemo is over worth. It was only a week, but Harry is completely lost by the end of it. It's shit, because chemotherapy does enough damage to Harry's physical state, so why can't it just let Harry's mental state be? He shouldn't have to deal with that on top of everything else, but he does, and he's so sad and quiet all the time that Louis is stuck constantly wondering what is going through Harry's head.

"Don't know if I'm ready to feel like this all the time again," Harry whispered to him one night, after the fourth day of chemo.

Louis ran his fingers through the little length of hair on Harry's head. They'll shave it again soon, probably. Unless Harry doesn't care if it falls out on its own this time, considering it's already so short. "Like what?"

"So, so weak."

His therapist wants to put him on antidepressants, but like last time, Harry refuses. He doesn't want another pill added to the handful he has to take every day already. 

The kids know that something is going on again, something they aren't meant to know about, and of course that makes them want to know every little detail. 

"I just don't see why I can't come," Isabelle whines, clutching onto Harry's pants and tugging at him. "You've gone out all week without us."

The first seven days were for chemo, Harry went to his first therapy appointment yesterday, and today is for another one of Harry's therapy sessions, and neither a therapist office or a cancer clinic is where they want to take their kids. 

"Because, love," Harry says, and that's it. 

-

Both Louis and Harry try much harder this time around to understand each other. 

Louis doesn't get mad at stupid shit, Harry doesn't snap at him out of stress as much. They communicate more, about what they need from each other and when they aren't getting it. Harry tries his hardest to help out with the kids more, almost to a fault. He tires himself out too much, trying to help. And Louis appreciates it, he does, but it's so obvious when Harry is exhausted and overexerting himself and he hates that Harry won't just settle down sometimes. 

They don't lose each other this time. Louis didn't realize that they had the last time Harry was going to chemo regularly, but they did. They were strangers to each other, and that's scary to look back at. 

Despite their efforts at making this better, Harry's depression worsens, and it's -- okay. It's okay, really, because Harry is trying to stay on top of it and to not let it get the best of it, and he lets Louis help more with it now. It just sucks, and Louis feels terrible for him. 

The things that Harry gets to be here for, though, are what makes it all worth it. And those were Harry's words, not Louis'. 

The day Annie starts kindergarten is probably the happiest yet emotionally draining days of Louis' life. He's not prepared for it, not at all, both mentally and literally. Harry's August round of chemo hit him especially hard, for some reason, and they've both been busy trying to keep up with that. They buy all of Annie's school supplies two days before school starts, and since this is her first go at things, she doesn't get fussy that they waited so long. 

Harry's weak the morning they wake up to get Annie ready. Harry would probably hate that Louis described him that way, but it's true. He looks completely worn down, and he's sore, and incredibly, incredibly nauseous. Louis has to help him sit up, and then they sit there for a little while as Harry tries to collect himself. 

"You're so close to being done with this, darling," Louis says. "Only a handful more rounds of chemo, and you heard Dr. Cabot, you might not even have to complete all twelve. You're almost in the clear."

Harry lets out a breathless laugh. "Until another five years and it decides to come back and bite me in the ass."

"No," Louis says quickly, shaking his head. He rubs up and down Harry's back. "It's not coming back this time. This is it."

"You can't promise me that."

"Of course I can't. But I can promise you that I'll be there then, too, if it does come back." He presses a kiss to Harry's temple. "But it won't. It's not allowed to."

Harry gives him a weak smile. "Thanks. And I'm ninety-percent sure I'm going to throw up as soon as I stand up."

He doesn't, but he does about twenty minutes later, in Annie's bathroom as Louis helps her get dressed. She is too preoccupied with the sparkly pink shoes she's trying to get on her feet, and Harry is quickly back in the room and picking up where he left off on her hair. 

They both cry after they walk her to her classroom and send her off, but they manage to wait until they get back to the car. It's odd; he didn't expect to feel so proud of her. She hasn't exactly  _ done _ anything yet, not really. But he is, he's so, so proud of her, and he's proud of Harry, who looks like he's hurting badly in the passenger seat and has to face chemo in about an hour. 

"This is embarrassing," Harry laughs, wiping at his eyes again. "She's going to be fine, why are we crying?"

Louis doesn't know either. "Don't know, love. But we got one down, four more to go now."

Harry makes an unhappy noise. "Nuh-uh. You promised me one more."

That hits Louis particularly hard. He thought for sure that Harry's second cancer diagnosis would put a pause on a possible sixth child entirely. Harry is so paranoid about missing out on their lives, so Louis just thought. . . he thought Noah would be their last. And he was completely okay with that, because having five kids with Harry has been rewarding enough. 

More tears rush out of his eyes and he grabs Harry's hand. "I did, didn't I?"

"Yeah, you did. I want another girl."

Louis had no idea Harry was this far ahead in his thinking. He tries to keep it light. "What, did Jack ruin boys for you?"

Harry makes a face and sound that reads  _ just a little _ , and then he laughs and shakes his head, squeezes Louis' fingers. "No. Just want another girl. Keeping the boys outnumbered will ground them, I think."

"Okay," Louis says softly. "Another girl."

Harry nods, looking out at the window at the rest of the parents bringing their kids into the school. He looks calmer than he did a few minutes ago, less like he's in pain. Louis squeezes his hand again. 

"You want another baby, or an older kid?"

"Baby," Harry says immediately, turning his head to look at him again. "Missed out Noah too much. I want a redo."

They both did, and Louis reckons they both feel guilty for it. It's not like Noah's been neglected, but he definitely hasn't been getting as much attention as the others did when they were babies. 

"We need to wait a little while, though," Harry says quietly. "At least another year, probably two after I go into remission. We can't -- we jumped the gun with Annie. It was selfish. I was barely healthy."

"That was so long ago, love."

"I know. But we were stupid to do that."

Louis nods. They were. Getting Annie that soon after Harry went into remission was risky, and he's sure the only reason the adoption agency didn't mention it was because they're rich and famous. 

"Maybe it's stupid to even be talking about this now," Harry mumbles, tone completely different. "They keep saying I'll get through this, but who knows. Maybe they're wrong."

Louis furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "They aren't. You've seen the test results. You're getting better. You've _ been  _ getting better."

"I know," Harry says, waving him off. "I know. Forget I said that."

Louis frowns. "Babe -- "

"No, Lou, this is about Annie. Don't know why I brought anything else up."

Louis lets it go, because he can tell Harry really wants him to. But later on, when Harry's sitting at the hospital for his treatment, tapping at the tablet and saying he's got nothing to do, Louis scoots closer to him and tells him to start thinking about baby names. Harry looks startled for a second, like he forgot he let Louis in on that desire, but then he gives him a tiny smile and nods. 

On the way home, Harry looks over to him and says, very quietly, "Claire."

"Okay," Louis agrees immediately. "Okay. Claire."

-

Harry's officially in remission just after his birthday, and as much as it's a joyous occasion, it's also a bit scary because they still have no idea what to tell the kids. 

They don't understand cancer, chemotherapy, or remission. They certainly don't understand how fragile remission is; Harry's cancer-free as of right now. That could change in a month. He could be dying again at a moment's notice. So as much as they want to celebrate with the kids, they can't. They can't give them false hope. 

But they also can't let them keep thinking Harry's on death's door. They fucked up, telling them that there was no way he'd get better, that he'd be gone forever. It was true at the time, but now it's not. 

They tell them in April, that Harry is healthy right now. They keep reiterating that:  _ right now, it could change, for now _ . And maybe that's not right, maybe they shouldn't put that fear in them, but it's the truth. 

They tell Annie first, and she has the most questions. They tell Isabelle and Marion together next, and they mostly just cry. They don't get it, both Louis and Harry can tell, and they'll have to work on it with them. And they tell Jack and Noah too, which is probably pointless, but they feel like it's necessary because Jack might've picked up on something and Noah can't be left out.

After all the kids are told, they celebrate like they should've the day Harry and Louis got the news. Then, Harry, Louis and Anne went out for dinner and then they came home and Louis and Harry fucked. They were both crying by the end of it, and Harry called them disgusting. But taking the kids out and having fun as a family is how Harry really wanted to celebrate, so that's what they'll do now. 

Which, in theory, was a good idea, but all the kids want to do is to sit right next to Harry. Isabelle throws a proper fit in the middle of the restaurant when Annie and Marion steal the seats next to Harry, and when Harry tries to appease her and seats her in his lap, that just makes the other two pout. 

"I would've sat in your lap if I knew we could!" Marion whines. 

Annie nods. "Daddy always says we can't do that when we eat at restaurants." She turns to Louis. "Why aren't you telling that to Isabelle? She's breaking the rules!"

Louis can't help but laugh at them, and it just makes Annie more upset. "Hey, no. Stop. You're fine."

"But Dad," Marion groans, and Harry shushes her. 

"You lot are being too loud," Harry tells them. "You're going to make us look like bad parents." He gives Louis a hard look and then motions to the left with his head, and Louis looks to see that some lady is trying to discreetly take pictures. Harry pulls the hat on his head down over his ears and wraps his arm around Isabelle's middle. 

"Want me to say something?" Anne asks quietly, and Harry shakes his head. 

"It's not worth it. Just don't want all of Twitter thinking we've raised spoiled brats." 

Annie pulls a face. "Heyy." 

"Well," Louis says, motioning to them, and Annie lets out a dramatic sigh and she sits up straight. He gives her a smile. "Thank you, darling. You too, Marion." Marion huffs and sits up more, and he should probably scold Isabelle for being bratty as well, but she looks awfully content in Harry's lap right now, and he doesn't have the heart to disturb that. 

Dinner goes by smoothly, as smoothly as it can, anyway, with five kids, and as they wait for their desserts, Annie grabs her glass of water and pulls it closer to her. "Can we do that thing?" she asks, looking at Louis. 

Louis, who's bouncing Jack on his knee because he's getting antsy, furrows his eyebrows. "What thing?"

"The thing," she says. "With the drinks."

Harry sets a hand on her head. "We have no clue what you're talking about, baby."

"The  _ thing _ ," she says again, looking frustrated. "I don't  _ know _ , the thing they always do in the movies. The -- " she picks up her drink and mimics clinking it. "The _ thing _ ."

"Toasting?" Louis asks.

Annie pulls a face. "I don't know. Just, like, when you put the drinks together and say something."

"Toasting," Harry repeats. "It's called toasting."

"Well, then sure. Can we do that?" Annie asks. 

Anne looks amused. "You're supposed to do that before you drink, babe."

She looks proper irritated, and Louis knows they have to get them to bed soon. He nods at her and grabs his drink off the table, eyeing Annie and Marion's glasses. Annie probably won't spill, especially since she's drunk most of her water, but Marion probably will. Harry seems to be thinking the same thing because he reaches over to grab her glass of water and pours about a quarter of it into his glass of wine so it doesn't spill. 

"I want to do it too," Isabelle says, frowning. She reaches forward to grab Annie's glass, and Harry quickly grabs her hand and guides it to his own. 

"You can help me," he tells her. "It's heavy, I need help."

"Okayy," she says happily, placing both of her hands on Harry's glass.

Harry catches Louis' eye and gives him a happy smile. Louis just nods at him, smiling back. 

"What are we toasting to?" Louis asks Annie, and Annie frowns. 

"To Papa, hmm?" Anne says, leaning over with Noah in her arms to tuck a stray strand of hair behind Annie's ear. "We can do that."

Harry looks a bit embarrassed. "We don't -- "

"I want to," Annie says, nodding. She picks up her glass (and Louis silently prays she doesn't spill it), and puts it in the middle, looking determined. Louis does the same, and then Marion, and then Anne, and then Harry and Isabelle. Isabelle is barely touching the glass at this point, just barely a finger on it because her arms are much shorter than Harry's, but she doesn't seem to process it or she doesn't actually care. 

"To Papa," Annie says softly, looking thoughtful. As the rest of them chorus it -- well, Marion and Isabelle don't, since they probably don't get what this whole toasting business is about -- Louis wonders wonders what's going through her head. They'll have to keep an eye on her as she grows up; Harry and Louis have talked about it before, how his cancer might affect her. She's the oldest, she understands and remembers the most. 

The kids go to sleep easily that night, and Harry and Louis cuddle in bed and talk for a few hours. They both try extremely hard not to let any negativity into their conversations, because they don't want tonight being about that. Cancer has taken up enough of their nights. 

"We should get married properly soon," Louis says, and Harry pulls back, confused. 

"What, having five children out of wedlock is too much for you? Can't imagine doing it to another child?"

Louis laughs and shoves at him. "No, shut up. You talk too much."

"I'll marry you," Harry says softly, leaning towards Louis again. "Any time. Didn't know you ever wanted to do it officially."

Louis hooks his pinky finger over Harry's. "I think I do now."

Harry nods. "Okay. We can do that. Having the kids in it'll be nice."

"Yeah, it will be." 

They exchange a soft smile.

"Can we wait 'til I have hair again?" Harry whispers, and Louis barks out a laugh too loud for three o'clock in the morning. 

"That might take a while," Louis teases. He runs his hand over Harry's mostly bald head, and Harry pushes it off. "Who knows if it'll even grow back this time. Might just be bald forever."

"Then you aren't ever taking me down the aisle," Harry mumbles, scooting forward to rest his head against Louis' chest. He's tired, has been for a while, Louis can tell. 

"Sleep, babe," Louis tells him. He pulls the blankets that fell off of them sometime during the night over them again, and Harry burrows deeper against Louis. "I'll see you in the morning," he whispers.

Harry nods. "Yeah, you will. Goodnight, Lou."

"Goodnight, H."

-

He doesn’t know if it comes down to the late night prayers, the hoping, or sheer luck, but Harry isn’t diagnosed with cancer for a third time. There was a scare once, three weeks after they got Claire, but for once a nosebleed was just a nosebleed. 

They get married a few years later. Harry’s hair has grown back and he has the girls as his bridesmaids and Louis has the boys and the band as his groomsmen. 

Harry’s there for the first days and school dances, the graduations and weddings, and every time he’s around for another milestone, they both let out a sigh of relief. 

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked it :) comments make my heart happy :))


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